View from my deck: Morning.
So, there are still days, and hours, and minutes; these treasures we call time. I am alive for some reason, or maybe no reason. I can still see the loveliness of a morning from my yard, can still hear music that makes me feel in the deepest part of my soul, can still see images of little kids starving in Somalia that make me ache for the world and detest the cruelty of people.
I am so lucky, I tell myself. I have friends and family, a house, a car, a job, a spouse who likes me, two kids who make me laugh even though they are far far away...I have eyes and ears and a body that still works, albeit not as well as it used to...I have time, still.
And therein lies the rub: our finite time on this lovely and sometimes brutal planet; this stunning, outrageous, extravagant world. I'm not afraid of death, or dying. I'm just afraid I won't be finished. But then none of us is, I suppose.
I often wish...well, time-travel is impractical. Life is what it is. My life is my life. I cannot change what was; I can only alter the future by my choices today.
I love being alive, really. I love the morning light. I love the green things growing. I love autumn's bittersweetness. I will miss these someday, and I love that, too.