Finality of form

Gemini always rushes past, with everyone equally eager for its departure for various reasons. I’m feeling this side of frivolous, recently, and seeking out little moments to verify my system. Last week’s peony still leaves a willfully wonderful scent in the bathroom. Sam’s silent, worried meow through the glass door. Lives like dried leaves floating in the waterfall; swirling around then back upon themselves, then forward, before freedom over the unseen edge. Last firefly, holding out and still burning in the downpour. An all-to human attempt to comprehend the details, the minutia of living, in order to choose correctly. New puffball stretching to the wind suddenly expands and disperses when I remove the sphere from its central stalk. Silvering trees and misting rain speak of a day inside, staring at the green that leaps toward me through the window.

As a child I wanted adventures and a horse more friend than transportation to be with me as I conquered unimaginable feats. Alone as I felt, I wanted not friends, but infamy; a special outsider, a wanderer with unknown history and powers, a stranger that would shape and change lives before disappearing once more. Now that I’ve settled on a different sort of adventure, I find myself struggling with the image I so carefully painted. I can stay, and this intrigues and unnerves me. My faults I’ll have to share with other people, my triumphs will be not mine alone. I’ll have a home beyond the back of some mystical equine traveling companion. Scary, really.

Once a blossom opens, the petals continue to grow, continue to spread out until the entire bloom is complete. It would be good for me to remember that growing is not complete as soon as the next phase is entered, that it takes continual effort to realize finality of form.