The hour and then the morning passed by unspoken. No need to
speak, we knew what would be done. At the peak of the day’s heat, the house
already stifled, I set out for my walk. No cool morning air upon my skin. A
cloudless sun filled sky greeted my already weakened body.
Strength against strength. Will against will. There will be
no victor no conquered. One can be neither a warrior nor a lover only in the
cool of the morning when life is comfortable.
Sometimes one has to strike a surrendered determined stance of strength
for strength and will for will. And with a tympani pounding beneath each temple,
the sweat painting my back like an Etch-A-Sketch, the hill that is my reward at the end of the walk, and the sun eye to eye with my own, we each whispered ‘Namaste.’
A crow began cawing
loudly over my head as I bowed. And with my bow, next to my feet, Life added, “Well
done.”
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