Sunday, 16 September 2012
Sometimes I forget it's Spring. Sometimes in the middle of my head inhabited by imagined lives and the ends of stories or the beginnings of poems, I forget what day it is, what month.
But I only need to look out our kitchen window at the kowhai tree's green pods bursting into bright yellow, to be sharply reminded that it is indeed Spring.
Seasons come, then go. Flowers bloom, then fall.
As I dwell on the lives of people who lived long ago, I am reminded more and more of how brief our lives are and how little we leave behind. An indecipherable name on a cemetery stone; if we are lucky.
I'm not depressed by this. It just spurs me on to take more in and to view life more vividly. To not only appreciate new life but also the fallen petals.