There are things you can’t reach. But
You can reach out to them, and all day long.
The wind, the bird flying away. The idea of god.
And it can keep you busy as anything else, and happier.
I look; morning to night I am never done with looking.
Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around
As though with your arms open.
― Mary Oliver
I've used this poetry excerpt before, years ago, and I use it again because I believe it even more than I used to, and I understand it even better. May I be able to say the same in years to come.
The photos are of a rata flower, one day a bud, the next a riotous explosion. Legend says it was stained bright red by the broken body of Tawhiki, a warrior who sought help from the gods and plunged to his death as he reached up to heaven. And isn't this, in some way, how we all die? And shouldn't this be, in some way, how we all leave a piece of ourselves behind?
There are things we can't reach. But we can reach out to them, and all day long.