maribou | a piece of something lovely, 'thout context

"I remembered feeling the same way once before, when my grandfather, my father, and I were sitting on the back lawn one fall evening as night crept up on us. We had been out there for an hour, and I kept lifting my hands every couple of minutes, holding them up and studying them as the loss of twilight made them less and less distinct. As their outline faded, I felt myself escaping into the night breeze, lifting beyond my blinking eyes and damp feet, and I was filled with a certainty about the world, and the sky - that things were moving everywhere, and things were at the same time still; and that I, too, would not be bound by a movement of my body, or a moment of knowing a fact, or a sudden burst of laughter, or a dream, or a long night's dark sleep. I was filled with bliss. Tears came to my eyes and I noticed through the blue air that my grandfather was watching me. I wanted to tell him. Without thinking I whispered, 'I'm everywhere.' He seemed to nod, and he whispered back so softly I wasn't certain I heard his words or just knew them inside: 'I'm there with you.'

- Bruce Brooks, _Everywhere_