in the time of the beginning of this current ending, i walked all the time — i would walk with one child for an hour, then the other for another hour, and then by myself for yet another at least. part of this was to pass time, certainly, and be out of the house which by then was too small for everything i was feeling, but part of it was also that outside called me to it with its beauty. and every thing was beautiful: the sun setting through the broken glass of the windows in the derelict car plant, random graffiti, the way people made space for each other on the pavements. the clouds.

once i paused for a great while to look at the way the sunlight came through maple leaves, when stood beneath one great bough and i thought how does anyone bear it, that everything can be as beautiful as it is? i spent whole swathes of time looking, and seeing and my heart was kindled by what i saw. once, when walking with the youngest i said to myself aloud, how is it that everything is so beautiful? and as young as he was then he did not realise that this was not a question for answering, and he said, because it is ending.

tonight i walked again at dusk, one of the best times for this (but each hour has its charms and i love them all for that) and it came to me while i was nearing home that everything is not ending, i am.  each day that i am in the world i am receding from it like a tide from a shore.

and all that time i had thought that i was the shore.