“It is vain to skulk.” – Walt Whitman
One can get the feeling that something is ending.
But nothing ever ends.
It only bursts out.
The kids go back to school.
The concert bands pack up their tours.
But the sun keeps shining.
The spiders take up the extra flies.
The season takes an out breath.
But there never was any container.
No start and finish.
No seed without a tree.
Even a fire consumes all that’s ready to be hydrated in another decade.
Only vanity argues with beginnings and endings.
Only imagination supposes a reason and layers on seriousness.
