On misty mornings, the world is so changed, that is becomes easier to imagine another age, another time.
“The Wheel of Time turns, and ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the age that gave it birth comes again.”
It’s a fictional world that Robert Jordan describes, but on mornings like this one, when reality and unreality sort of swirl and blend together in the mist, it seems to strike close to the heart of the matter.
Plants and creatures of all kinds, living things great and small, from single-celled organisms to critters with tiny fingers and toes, humans and kittens and daisies and great whales, all working and struggling to find a way through. Not everyone makes it. Some will fall, some will lose their current form, fragment and fray into their component parts, their building blocks absorbed by the universe to create new life.
But even though many will fall, each individual still strives and works. Never give up. Never surrender. This caught my eye this morning: A tiny, tiny plant, saying “hell, yeah.”