Why does the paved road turn to gravel?
Why does the river fill from last winter’s snow melt, only to find its way into a dried-up desert riverbed?
Why do the seasons have start dates, yet fade slowly into one another?
Autumn thieves steal leaves from the fall, only to return them in the Spring. Summer steals all memory of Winter, all of them guilty of borrowing time from the sun.
Barren landscapes come to life with a simple bloom, and then by some covert influence, another bloom appears, then another, until the message of new life travels and overtakes the land.
We look at our own reflection in the mirror and notice another wrinkle has etched its way onto our own landscape, creating a new view for us to live in. All the while we long for something that is certain and unmoved by nature’s evolution, but we know certainty is its own thief.
We search for some eternal wind to steady us upon solid ground, but we know, yes, we know that even the ground moves. So we hold onto the only truth we know, that life is like that river full, until it is dry, and the paved road turns to gravel, and each new day we attempt to borrow a little more time from the sun.