A vague haze over a silent stream,
a leaf falls from the canopy
breaking the cover, stirring
gentle waves like flowers on water.
Akin to fire works, except not fire
but water. Fading quickly
like glimpses of past memories
and hopes dashed with inaction.
Gravity pushes the leaf down
from the sky, and the stream along
the earth; and such the leaf too
by the stream pulled down elsewhere.
I want to talk about the impermanence of things. A day gets lost in the week and an instant lost in moment. Where does it go and where is it from? Does it matter that all will go along with it when it’s gone?
Flipped Serendipity 