I am fascinated.
The faith with which this life stares at me in the face every morning and the faith with which it reminds me at sunset every day that none of it is in my control, it is bewildering. That none of it is mine, that my world could collapse on itself headfirst but not a single leaf on the tree I've grown up looking at will rustle, or even stir ever so slightly in solidarity, fascinates me.
When then did the trees bow down their heads, the breeze blew not against but with us, the sun hid behind the clouds and the skies shed the tears of the gods upon us, as if in shame, in grief, in mourning. When were divine messages then carried on the wind and crooned into our ears? When?
The faith with which this life stares at me in the face every morning and the faith with which it reminds me at sunset every day that none of it is in my control, it is bewildering. That none of it is mine, that my world could collapse on itself headfirst but not a single leaf on the tree I've grown up looking at will rustle, or even stir ever so slightly in solidarity, fascinates me.
When then did the trees bow down their heads, the breeze blew not against but with us, the sun hid behind the clouds and the skies shed the tears of the gods upon us, as if in shame, in grief, in mourning. When were divine messages then carried on the wind and crooned into our ears? When?
