Reflections in the tides

I’ve been unusually sensitive recently. It started in the midst of my journey in the Pacific Northwest, but instead of being dulled or simply lessened by the return to mundania, this sensitivity has become sharper, more acute. It extends to all points and valleys of my existence. The very breeze vibrates through me like an echo. I feel like the crow perched within a willow seated next to a river, sunlight and moonlight reflecting from their sources but also reflected in the moving waters below me, further perspective, secondary impression.

And yet the time has come for such reflection. Though the leaves have not yet begun their color symphony, the wheel is turning, the time is coming, and the seeds are coming to their various points of harvest. Yet with eyes so forward and ears so perked to all that is so far out, could I lose sight of what’s in my hands? The barrage has been known to blind me, to clench my hands in shock and wonder, only to crack the fragile joys already within my grasp. To say nothing of the rather impressive backlog of things that I’ve been meaning to complete for years now. Delicate balance.

So many sign posts, so many wants, so many things left undone. A curious reflect.