Of Wind and Mirrors

On this calm winter night, humble amongst my own thoughts and silence, I have found myself accepting a single notion, one truth; a singularity amongst this field of roses we have desperately and ignorantly conjured for ourselves. One must see with clear eye that even the rose may prick your flesh if it is held tightly enough. To shake hands with a mirror is much like grasping at thin air and attempting to keep it still within your palms, for even if it were riddled with smoke it will always find escape between your fingers.

Tragic was the rule of yesterday, but hopeful are the days of tomorrow. Time may cripple our bones and seal our tombs, but something as cruel and ruthless as the clocks we hang upon our walls and cage ourselves within still tick and tock by means of machine and metal and motor. Everything done cannot be undone, but the very essence of time itself may be retraced. Like a feather tumbling through the breezes it moves swiftly, unseen and without a sound, untouched until it is no longer carried by that which we cannot mold. Look beyond the wind, and you might just find yourself...

Shaking hands with yourself.