The light filters down through the branches.
Decades, Centuries, Millenia of history before me.
Such wisdom, such strength!
All supporting, ever-reaching.
Growing slowly, inconsistently, but still progressing.
It is the past.
And I am just a small branch.
The future; our future; my future.
It is not necessarily the same. Sure one may influence the other, some more than than others but they are seperate only overlapping in areas that we share. Our hemispheres of action and consequence; our world; our own little bubble of life, it’s all we have.
It is enough. The numbers, the lines, the persistent urge to check.
The vice that keeps the world turning is gripping me by my exposed neck.
Squeezing and letting go; not safe until it’s truly dismissed.
It is there of my own choosing.
Why? Oh why do I put myself in your prison!
There is only one finite thing we have in our lives and that is time.
It’s peaceful up here;
the crisp air taste particularly sweet;
it’s soothing gentle air against my face;
as I witness the vibrant green vitality of life below me.
Wouldn’t life be great if all our challenges were tested on paper before we sat the practical?