At the moment, I'm sitting on a bench watching the river. The water is flowing along briskly thanks to recent rains—a rich golden-green, rather opaque, whispering as it goes and full of mystery. Yet every so often, when the sun briefly appears from behind the scattered clouds along with bits of sky, the stream's surface is all shot through with light and flashes of brilliant blues, like the intense swirls of color in a piece of the extraordinary glasswork art by Dale Chihuly.
I could sit and watch this interplay for hours.
Why is it that such beauty is always so fleeting…so ephemeral? And yet our days and lives are played out in a series of such transitory moments.
"Begin at once to live, and count each separate day as a separate life," wrote Seneca.
Today my life is counted on a gold-green flow.
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