Days of Forever

Days of Forever With every day, we plant a bit gather a bit, use a bit. Time’s waning irrigation renders dry many tributaries. From high in the ethos-sphere some of purity’s regeneration meanders down rivulets of calm while certain regrets clamor endless echoes from mind’s canyon to canyon. Some may ask… What of the times when fragrance fills the air, when Alpine’s flower reverence dances its season beside trickling brooks? And lest we forget our concrete avenues where stanchions of glass and steel hold mysteries aloft with lessons’ East side to West side, seeking out willing listeners. We always remember those rough and tumble planting seasons of growing up, when sunlight seems clouded and food for flesh momentarily begets starvation of thought Yet with temperance of satiation, we arrive at harvest time and suddenly new sprouting appears, the cycling conundrum of time blinks open again, the bard’s handiwork resounds: to be or not to be. For such breath-held moments of question ushers out the darkness of sleep, begetting the radiance of sunrise, the waking from Nature’s perpetual dreams, opening eyes to harvest from those of seed.