Two photographs that are themselves, edges. “Edges are the crossroads for the wildlife traveling between habitats and are richer in animal life than the areas on either side.”

This morning my weary body tried to find a reason not to go into nature. “It’ll take an hour to get there” was its best excuse. The excuse made me ponder how my work day is akin to praying the hours. Each hour I walk down the hallway and invite a broken heart to travel within and on either side of edges. Each hour I too walk among the edges. The hour of edges. With a smile, off I went.

At the lake I followed an eagle and found a new habitat. The grasslands were filled with the Meadowlarks’ songs. They pierced and knitted my heart. They perched apart and answered each call with their own. Nature’s stereo defining the edges. My body moved and danced with their song. Stillness. Fluttering Meadowlarks.  Music. Silence. I thought of how many times I have moved between the habitats of lost and found. I thought of those who think me wise to help them move between the edges. And yet it is not on either side that the richness of life abounds. It is within the edge that life’s vital marrow abounds. Neither side is the goal. Richness within the edge. As I pondered and bowed to the edges the Meadowlarks continued to sing.

I did not wait for the whisper. Perhaps that was the whisper. I bowed and offered my own whisper. “And when my body truly can no longer make these journeys, and when my mind no longer holds these moments, remind me, please, of how the Meadowlark sings.”