Adrift

Like snow, pollen dots the sky

It hangs in the warm air, defiant to the bitter end;

fighting the inevitability of coming to rest.

It dawns on me that this is sometimes what I feel like. 

You see, the pollen must find a place to settle,
and if luck is on its side, it will land upon fertile soil and germinate.

All the while down though, it does everything in its power to stay afloat on the currents of air.

Like the pollen, I too must come to settle somewhere eventually. Like it also, I will set down roots and with luck, I will have come to find myself in a fertile place.

But for now ... for now I'd rather surf the air and dream of a million other futures than those which end in stagnation.

 

The End

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