Cloud, Light, Mountain, Lake, Dock, Window

 Ripples on the water. Light spilling over clouds like gold veins running through rock. A few ducks floating and paddling slowly on the lack past the docks. Water rippling and shimmering on the surface taking in and using the sunlight apparently better than anything else. Stretched out along the entire surface sunlight reflects in all directions and penetrates into the depths of the lake until it is fully absorbed. Geese climb aboard the dock for a break from the cool waters. Perhaps with the additional height they can smell better and enjoy more of the breeze. Or just eating. They bend over to poke at something on the dock. The birds seem to be full of light, air, and water. They seem to be the lake itself. Back in the water, beside the dock, approaching the shore. Peepers in the cottonwood. One flies out to the old pylon jutting out of the water. The mountain behind the lake reaches up to the sky. The lake extends out to the base of the mountain. The dock runs out into the lake. And my sight reaches all of them through the window. All of them flow into each other. Like paints blending together on a canvas. There is no end and beginning to each of them. They fit seamlessly into the landscape and into each other. They fit seamlessly into my life as I fit seamlessly into theirs. We are all a part of the Earth. As it is a apart of us. The Earth is a part of the universe and the universe is a part of the Earth. I am a part of the Earth and I am a part of the Universe. I cannot be taken from it, and it cannot be taken from me as long as I and it are here now. Form is the patchwork on a universal quilt. Patchwork of infinite variety. A quilt that is always being remade. That is always in the process of being completed and is always completed in this moment. Both completed and begun anew right now. We imagine such things as begin and end. We imagine how they are different. How are they the same? How are they inseparable? All of time, all of thought and memory is compiled into beginnings and endings. How much of this really exists? How much of this is imagined? What reality lies beyond these imaginations? What does the world look like and feel like? Are we ourselves in these bodies separate from the world, born one day to die another? Or are we apart of a timeless field beyond conception?