The Poetry of Life
At this time of year, it seems to me that things begin to blend into each other more and with a certain grace that is not as apparent in Winter or Summer. It seems to me that Spring and Autumn are the times of year that the world thinks to become more beautiful. Just like people. When children are born they are beautiful. Miracles of love and sometimes hate that show us the truth about life. They are spring. When people reach middle age, they try to recapture the natural youth and aesthetic pleasure that they had in the summer of their lives. They make a conscious effort to think before winter. To store something away and remember.
We are all summers. We give little thought to those around us and a lot of thought to ourselves. I do not mean that we are all selfish and heartless, because it is apparent that we are not and that we do give to others on occasion. All I mean is that, perhaps, we need to reflect more- as though we truly are in our autumns because the future is far to uncertain to know we will get that chance later on.
I'd like to know how things can be made more certain, but I don't know if I'd ever do it. I like being an Autumn Summer.
We are all summers. We give little thought to those around us and a lot of thought to ourselves. I do not mean that we are all selfish and heartless, because it is apparent that we are not and that we do give to others on occasion. All I mean is that, perhaps, we need to reflect more- as though we truly are in our autumns because the future is far to uncertain to know we will get that chance later on.
I'd like to know how things can be made more certain, but I don't know if I'd ever do it. I like being an Autumn Summer.