Fleeting.

Fleeting. From: www.douglasstockdale.com

There is sadness that seems to accompany our sense of time passing. We draw our attention to the fact that there is a cycle of life that is close to an elegy, which gravitates towards a profound loss. A laurel might not be conscious of its impending demise, and so, even if it be temporal, it would not be as tragic.

But for us, when we become reflective enough of things and events, we feel the poignant unity of everything. A kiss, a heartache, a birth, a poem. These might not come again, because each represents a unique configuration of one’s self, or of another’s, or a place and time. We are evanescent, like the moon’s grace or a night’s wind. From moment to moment, we diminish, either in happiness or sadness, but we are never the same individual.

And we are left to ponder.

Why are we bitten by nostalgia over a fact of life, and seem to gravitate towards the desire for permanence in things and events? And why can’t we let go without the attendant knee-jerk sadness?