Good Grief 128

After much sorting today I went for a walk.
There was some late sun.
I saw my shadow cast long in the beautiful late winter afternoon light.
I looked at it and it felt like some confirmation of my existence.
In these places of extended quietness it can be tricky locating the self.
In loss and isolation there are no longer any counterpoints.
I don't mind too much. I cry but it is as it is and there is no point forcing something other. That is not this place and this place is a rich universe of its own, even in its difficulty and perhaps because of its unique difficulty.
When I got to the shore I saw the brisk cold northerly wind confirm its own existence as it swept off the sea and along the beach. It whipped up the dry sand into a myriad of braided currents, a fast moving delta of weaving meeting, separating, forming, unforming, racing streaming energy. As it sped up to the dunes the marram grass Mexican waved, each blade monetarily light catching.
I thought to myself, 'Of course. It has always been thus. Right back to when I stood here at the age of about 15. I am just another slower moving speck of sand, just another light catching blade of grass. I am not a self, I am just energy, most of it just emotion these days, moving through, shifting and changing moment to moment.'