Faze Of Phases

the verdant verdure of the meadow sways, like a seductive serenade, as i wander, my footsteps lost in the gentle hum of nature, the soft petals of the flower a canvas for the ladybug's crimson kiss, i pause, my hand closing around her tiny shell, like a conqueror's grasp on the fleeting freedom of her existence, and i ponder, are we the masters, the dominus of this domain, or are we but a plague, a pestilence, infecting the very life force of the planet, do the ladybugs tremble at our boot heels, or do they laugh, mocking our pretensions, as we toil and struggle, blind and self-deluded, our grand illusions of control, mere wisps on the wind, fragile as the life of this tiny monarch, does it matter, in the grand symphony of existence, if we are the virtuoso or the minor chord, does it matter, when the melody of life wraps around us, a gentle whisper of mortality, and the ladybug's tiny heart beats on, oblivious to our social pretensions, to our weighs of science and reason, she knows, in her simple, inscrutable way, that she is a world unto herself, and i, a clumsy giant, a stumbling pain, trying to understand the difference between our feeble hum and the song of the earth. moments like this that show me light, i smile, because who cares—? life is given, by who doesn’t matter, live it, be true, or your wasting your breath. daydreaming about nonsense.