You were there standing by the grass, as the evensong drew a veil of darkness over the trees, and the sky flushed into cold palest blue. You felt the cool, or was it the dew? gathering across the world as the last dying remnants of the day tore westwards, to new places, new joys new sorrows.
Somewhere to the west a baby was lifted to the breast for the first time, and a young couple felt the warm touch of hands and hearts. Somewhere a loved one is leaving everything behind, and following that howling star to what comes next. You stand there and the breath of life soughs in the leaves. The chirrup of the crickets echoes the sound of a monitor where a family gathers by the bed of a fading young life, somewhere to the west.
You can reach out and touch the fence post, and feel its texture, like an autumn apple, soft and dappled with the texture brought by time. It grew somewhere in the woods to the west, and was tall and elegant until the call of the axe and saw, the chisel and plane took it and set it here, changing, diminishing. It stands like a headstone, or the magnetic termite mounds that face away from the heat of the sun, denying their attention to the west.
The days shorten, the leaves fall and the coming of snow is in the yammering of the birds. Black ice and an electric wheelchair will tumble you into a snowdrift, and you will lay there for some long agonising minutes before help arrives. If I hold you in just the right way, under the arms you can lie here on the grass, back to the larch tree, feel the way life pours unchecked around this world. Feel it ebbing from you into me, from me into babies, and new leaves, into the flight of emerald butterflies and sparkle of ruby beetles skittering through crisp fallen leaves.
Somewhere behind, is a quiet place in the gathering dark, glowing with the comfort of warmth hearth and a still place to sit. When the standing here by the grass becomes too weary, it is there that you will go, away from the west. And in time we all shall meet you there.