There is a moment where in weariness you look out at the world and plead, plead for a taste of fresh forgotten youth. Or is it home that you are longing for?
Either way it comes to me in the midst of the night as I'm bumping about the house hoping to catch a moment of the past lurking in the corner.
I catch a bit of it here, a bit there
Sometimes though I wonder what happened to the wonder
Little potato bugs rolled up in a ball, water skeeters, the flow of a sudden stream in the gutter off into the unknown regions of tomorrow.
Remember watching leaves and sticks flow away in the current? Life is like that
Swiftly passing by, headless of the obstacles
You cannot grasp onto the stationary semblances of the past, the current is too strong
Hopefully though, I will be like the rough cut stone, which when tossed about will become a shining gem.