What is it about the way the afternoon light filters through the leaves of my fig tree that sends my thoughts spiraling into the stillness? How many afternoons do I sit at my computer, working through the vestments of day, when all of a sudden I can no longer ignore the way my face feels soft in the diffuse light. I can no longer focus, when the pattern of the leaves holds me rapt and the green is so delicate, I cannot help but touch them as gently as a one would handle a piece of gauzy paper. I am struck by the impermanence of it all. The sheer beauty of the veins so luminous between the sun and I, the dappled shadows on my hand, makes me want to weep. Why my thoughts run that direction, towards the collision of time is impossible to say. The fig tree was my first purchase after I moved out over 15 years ago, so it is as permanent a symbol I could have in this house. Perhaps it is because while I am often held rapt by the way the afternoon loosens it's light as easy as a chalice overflowing, I am ever cognizant that if I do not allow myself to melt into such moments, they will be lost to the quicksand of time, never to be completely replicated again. Each moment a unique occurrence. Much like those magical synchronous nights where everything just seems to mesh, and to recreate it is folly, as it NEVER happens the way you want. Living in the moment affords such magnanimous offerings, gifts to the soul . Always moving forward, which brings a touch of sadness to my mind. Such are my thoughts, when the light catches my eye, when it calls me out to play and shimmers in the leaves of my fig, my tree curled around the sun.