The First breath is wet, stunned. A moment between warm and cocooned,
to harsh, white and cold.
I’ve been there, a traveller in other lands, gifted with moments
only moments
where I can visit another land.
I can’t live there, it’s not my place now.
I pass the new life to grateful arms, always overwhelmed by this beauty.
So much love.
The last breath, too, is often wet,
Stunned.
But also a sweet sigh of release. Exquisitely heartbreaking.
I have been there, too, on my passport.
A stranger in a land I’m not yet ready to enter, and can only watch from the doorway.
Waiting for my turn.
We all live here, at the end. We don’t know what it’s like, and there are no travellers back who tell us the highlights.
Is it warm, cocooned, safe? I’d like to think so.
Sometimes I think I see a person from that land in the eyes of another,
but only fleetingly,
visiting others who are making ready for their travels,
ready to take the next journey into a new land.