I have this saying that the days are long and the weeks are short. I’ve always felt that way, and I’ve always said that. These short time frames can seem to last forever as the sun lingers in the sky, until it falls and these days are suddenly at an end. The next day is but another temporary forever, followed by yet another. A succession of illusions, like taking a nap within a dream. And when it’s done you look back and it all seemed like a sequence of dreams so real but fleeting. All that is really left of them is the flavor, the sentiment, that perhaps comes back to mind in the midst of some familiar scent years later.
I’ll post just one image this time, which I think captures the last two months of life in this lucid living.
Time, Real and Imagined
Since this is my 100th blog post, it also seems a good place (and time) to recite my favorite poem, Time, Real and Imaginary (An Allegory), by Samuel Coleridge. Why is it my favorite poem? And of all time? It captures this fleeting life, and the places we were, the places we are, and the places we will be. And in all such places, we know not which is which. (You can discover more of Coleridge’s poems here. Must reads among this collection are Kubla Khan and The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.)
On the wide level of a mountain’s head
(I knew not where, but ’twas some faery place),
Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails outspread,
Two lovely children run an endless race,
A sister and a brother!
This far outstripp’d the other;
Yet ever runs she with reverted face,
And looks and listens for the boy behind:
For he, alas! is blind!
O’er rough and smooth with even step he pass’d,
And knows not whether he be first or last.