Three Little Words

Bones are that part of us that last the longest. When our flesh decays into the earth, our bones are what’s left behind, present, holding. Some have said the closest we can get to the soul, is bone. Perhaps this is true. Think of how bones hold up the body, the way they eventually let go, splinter, exist in some other form—sand, rock, ash. Bones, what are they? They’re no different than flesh, than muscle, than stone. Bones, they too are the fragments of what becomes eternity.

Storms are earth’s gray emotions. When I think such emotions are wrong or useless—sadness, anger, guilt—I think of earth’s storms. How they spread seed over prairies, mountains and meadows. How they bring rain, which make pink azaleas bloom again. When I see myself out of myself, when I fall into an emotional low, I look to the sky and remember—earth’s storms give life. If without them, sunny days would bear nothing.

Time is the only living thing on earth that grows younger. Always leaving behind its older self, the way a hermit crab leaves behind its smaller shell for a new one. This is time. I wonder: If time never grows old, is this why it’s invincible? Is this why it travels at the same pace and without urgency? How liberating it must be to exist as time—like dogs without leashes! Yet how miserable it must feel to be in constant motion, having no death to work against.

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