Great Things

I have always been exposed to great things—great books, music, performances and the arts. They have unfolded about me like the leaves of the agave or the wings of the monarch. It is probably a just thing that I should lose the sight of one eye and scarcely feel the earth beneath my feet. Just in that I have inhaled the beauty of Austen, Tolkien, King and Dickens, beheld the fire called the Sistine, watched with awe the power of old Egyptian love sealed forever in an ancient tomb, and have slumbered on waves Mozartian. I have seen Gui-lin in the mist of her wet mornings, where the cinnamon trees burst over the plum pudding hills that vie with cabbage aromas. I have supped too long, indulged too many times for any human to dispute the parity of loss. Now, I pick up my armor, shielding the sun, deflecting its rays to my own response, my own mark indelible, for one cannot mourn the loss of such things as sight and touch, when one has recorded all things in the soul. It is time for me to thank the creator for what I have, and join with the great for others to imbibe. The days are getting short for me, and the best is yet to come.