Grassy Diary - Part 2/2
Ideas are likes seeds. They grow, and they wither. Nothing is permanent, not even the universe. The long life of galaxies may seem permanent in comparison to our own, but it is still not permanent. Those who reach too far are burned by the sun. It's been awhile. Racing towards the sun is no longer as attractive as it used to be. The way there is treacherous; we are being roasted left and right. There is no comfort anymore, and I can no longer shrink back to my previous, smaller, state. Photo by me from Pixel 2 XL. The fall. Now this is funny. Why did I grow all the way up there to only fall down? Why did I try to reach the sun to only burn up? Why did I live to wither? Youth is fleeting, and time is unrelenting. Photo by me from Pixel 2 XL. Good night. At least I didn't go gentle into the good night. I was a mere seed. Then, I grew fervently into a resolute blade of grass. Now, I am a thin, withered fiber. Photo by me from Pixel 2 XL.