Let it shine

Don't snuff it or puff it, or waste your time crying over what can't change. The first drop of dew always falls early, eager to board the stage. My father once told me, in a low and cold moment, that he felt he'd never suited love, never worn a face worthy of warmth. I see, in us all, the potential for change. I see, in us all, a change we cannot yet see.

When the cannon fires, at daybreak, I watch auburn skies shatter into diamonds, falling fast through ancient currents. I wonder if the motion of life has always been so certain, if temporary pleasures are more permanent than relentless traditions we endlessly insist upon. I wonder, for as long as I can spare to, if my time is mine to spend, or merely a loan from something I can't understand.

Then, as if in response, the universe grants me a short moment, a connection, that I had pushed away. Without asking, I am thrust into the valley of change. Without compassion or consent, the path ahead turns to mud, and I must ask myself: "Do I make my tomorrow or does tomorrow make me?"