a strand of white pearls hangs just above the neckline of my ivory shirt, accentuating the femininity of my neck and jutting bones, and looking in the mirror, i almost pass me by. today in the paper i read about a former classmate of mine who died just a few days ago. 28 and already gone to meet her maker.
death always seems to put things in perspective. i am astounded at how much time i waste thinking of myself, living this life, with my numbered days. it could very well be me that's next in the obituary column. her name was laura too.
there is nothing morbid about the realisation that God alone knows our day of death, our deathday. more so, i believe this is health. if only i could learn of this well being, live this health, rise from these dry bones and be the fisher i was born to be.
there is something glorious about dangling your feet in the cool summer water on a hot summer day. the splintered deck rubs against your thighs and repositioning yourself frequently so as not to sweat yourself stuck, your body burns from the rays. and you cast out a line and hope that the lure goes deep, but only time will tell. the sun blinds you and near hypnotizes you, and soon, the bobber looks there, gone, there, gone. or is it just the sun?
but sooner or later clarity arises. you either have an igloo full of life, or an igloo gone and dead. and i just pray i'm alive when i die.