Our Time Is Now

And now in the hour of her twilight years, Mother Nature cries her dewdrop tears.

The burdock blossoms verdant, the lotus floats unburdened, and sweet cicadas cling and sing to a fragile life, on the barks of trees in the dark dead of night.

As the owls and bats take bothersome flight, happily hunting the smallest mite, they swoop the sweep of the pale moonlight, which wanly shines as it has since the age of all time.

And long since dead ammonites hide in the rocks, that I sit upon without reason and without rhyme.

Moribund mollusks from a different age, from a time when the earth wrote a different page in the story of its life. Its struggles and fights, its troubles and grief.

And as I sit and ponder, upon all of nature's wonder of this thing that we call life, it seems to me it is our time to be.

And we are how we are and what we are meant to be. 

And we will be, what we will be. 

As for the future, we will see.

Perhaps one day, we too will be trapped in earth and shale and rock and lime. Nothing more than curiosities enwrapt faded fossils from another time entrapped.