As a plough breaking up the sods of earth
and the hopper dropping a seed into the furrow.
Or as a knife plunging into flesh
and the blood spurting upon its return.
So I have looked for such significance.
An action pregnant with consequence
and birthing a new and different future.
Something other, something different,
not now, not ever been before.
The great expectation, the fulfilled promise of many a thought before sleeping
or before an unscratched lottery card.
I always thought there would be more but there is not,
life is, as it appears to be and no more.
Or is it?
In spite of our creation and wandering
for 70 or 7 million years
only the corner of the canvas remains blotted.
The vastness is untouched by most
and yet there are those who reach with brush and paint a great swathe.
And there are those who splash their color upon the ready and waiting whiteness.
Can I?
Pick up the plough, the knife or the paint brush
and stretch out into the future of my making.
The seed will grow, the blood will spill and in the end,
as always, the paint will dry.
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Written in 20 minutes with probably 5 minutes of editing. An experiment in writing something inspired by my recent resignation from my job.
I have no job to go to but I would rather uncertainty in a future of my own making than certainty in a future that is not what I want.
A fool? perhaps.
