Winter

And I watch the passing of my life,

 marked by the

Growth and decay of things around me, the paradox

Of life and death go on simultaneously.

Like the silver birch trees that now stand five

Feet tall, were once little more than dust, as

Seeds within my palm and the once bright new huts

Now lie weathered grey, fringed with green of algae.

Time goes on and in which am I, in growth or decay?

All these changing cycles, seasons of growth and

Decay (that mark the passing of time); make me

Ponder, “how soft is my egg” as I imagine the

Falling grains of sand within a wasted glass,

A grain of sand becomes a comma (in life’s

Punctuation of time), a comma a swallows return,

A season past new yet older.

These thoughts would make a man maudlin, to ponder

Such introversions, but then to gaze heavenward on

A starlit night and marvel at our insignificance.

Distances get lost in O’s of light years, the very

Concept difficult to grasp.  A little speck of

Insignificance illuminations not a star but a

Million million stars whose light set out before

Our planet’s birth and was halfway, here when

Dinosaurs were king.  Stars, galaxies, wonder,

Look! a streaking flash.  A meteor, to hurtle

Through space for a million years and in the

Blinking of an eye live as fire to be caught by

Atmosphere and retina, what a fleeting life.

So I too have my season..