My life is passage

into blue. The

moon is blue this

morning, over our

little mountain, twice full

this season of waiting; for

it is August. I will not be

arriving when I make my way

beyond, just beginning and

my children will know a bit

more how to open, to

unfasten, to throw

the moorings sooner and

watch with joy the shoreline

spill off the ledge of earth

and fade to blue. There

are mornings when this

freedom, so severe, is

terrible to feel, I fear I

have forsaken something

vital to the tripwire of

eternity. Then, in

Silence, the way, for

the day, is clear

again, and the blue is

shimmering in dawn and

dreams and in the

precious eyes of the ones

I love. My life is passage, a

passage into blue.

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