On the drive home, the sun set behind me, setting the grassy knolls aflame in bright washes of yellow. Remains of clouds become homing beacons, dotting the sky with bright lights and sharp edges. Turn off the highway to the small country road, feel it in your gut, it's time to pull over.
Find the western horizon aflame, impossibly stretched across the endless miles of sky, pink feathers around the edges and a sliver of moon on the periwinkle ends. The air smelling of grass, cows, summer. Back in the car, see the first black bear of the trip, pausing as I pass, dusk settled by the time I reach the little cabin. The insight of the evening not to forget all the things you are already doing right, that are already going well. It's so easy to see the things not yet accomplished.
But you've already seen a sunset the kind that takes your breath away, already seen a black bear, a night sky, already felt the afternoon breeze across your shoulders. You've already discovered a new story in the melee of your mind.
There is much left to do. But oh, how many stars you hold already in your hands.
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