Refugees of Reason

Philosophy from a Shuswap Campsite

Look towards the late summer sky and see the stars,
maybe we're looking round towards ourselves;
our time here, limited,
seasons change,
where one ends another begins;
summer fails,
a long winter approaches,
greens and growth soon to fade,
replaced by orange and brown and yellow ... and grey hues;
the goslings that crossed the road yesterday are large and full,
geese will soon collect upon the lake and practice their flight;
they'll leave these parts for far away,
wintering in much milder climes
(oh don't we wish we could go there too?);
days will shorten and nights will lengthen ... so very long ....

Tonight the stars burst forth from the black sky ...
the crows are roosting and all is quiet
though the occasional coyote howls distantly.
— I long already for spring time melt,
and new beginnings,
or maybe beginning anew.
One's seasons flow wistfully into the next
— winter's upon us despite our wishes;
at times I can't help but believe we may be finite,
but then, so probably is the space and the stars above:
though we all end, our dust be immortal.

Seasons pass,
only time is infinite;
our dust returns,
every molecule;
some time my dust will look towards a wondrous black sky,
just like this one,
exact: every atom, every molecule,
though not the same;
to think,
never knowing certainty,
only to speculate,
conjecture,
unconnected to past or future.

~gtk