It is not fair. Never was, never will be.
A maple tree was planted nearly eighty years ago. The first ten years, it learned of the seasons in the cruelest accounts. The fog was fresh. The rain was wet. The sun was warm.
Twenty years later, it grew stronger from the seasons. Excited by the passing of each day, growing curious as to what each season would bring.
In the thirtieth year, it was stronger still. And craved harsher storms, wanted to be challenged, and yet, had a healthy respect for what the weather could bring.
Forty years, days pass by and turn into weeks much easier.
Fifty years later, a giant lightening storm, one branch broken, the neighbor trees okay though, their holding strong, so this tree must too.
I walk around in my neighborhood, the streets carry me, and I hold them as well.
There are a handful of complaints, growing steadfast. Always, in recent reflection, it is when I run the conflict into the ground by creating a symbolic story, the web is easier to grasp all in one hand and I can stomp on the crunch of fall leaves knowing in due time my season is still coming.
A house was built on a hill. Then ignored, moved out, and crumbled. Serving a better home for rodents.
The older poets got it right if you ever care to read.
We are the spoiled generation. There is no good reason for any one of us to starve in resources.
To hog the spoil, many pigs.
To fight the spoil, intellectual reward. It is the generation of durable knowledge, and tried wisdom.
Our habits are old friends of their own.
A clean house always wants to be cleaner.
To have not, is to require.
To require, demands adjustment.
To adjust, is to gain or eliminate.
To have, keeps.
A perfect record never stops producing sound.
A broken record, always looking to be fixed.
A happy home is like a potted plant that has room to grow. A happy room; depends on temperature.
Our tasks remind us that we have desires, and vice versa.
Your biggest accomplishment will be doing it on your own. Your biggest gratitude will be knowing who and what it took to get you there.
Not everything grows upright.
Every day is another chance at life. Molding more into who we already are, or, shaking off the rubble and finding an older or other form reminding us how to begin again.
An onions’ outer layer does not smell as strong.
All are on a journey back home by nightfall. Guided by the stars, street signs, familiar roads and new beginnings.
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