Even the trees know the season, despite the heat. The time of harvest and bounty are upon us, as we turn the ground for rest. Here in the Deep South our planting season is long. But still a moment to cool down is required, before a long winter’s nap. I am my father’s son, a child of the earth. My blood flows from generations of sharecroppers and the working poor.
But to us born of the land, money is but a means to an end. A necessary evil tolerated in order to survive. But it wasn’t always this way. For decades I pursued the allure of wealth and the trappings of fame. Until a breakdown brought me back to my most basic elements and open my eyes. To see that the pursuit of glory was never what it’s all about.
So I stare up into the turning colors of the trees and listen to the songs of the mockingbirds. Leaves dance silently to the ground as a warm breeze blows across the sky. The Kingdom of Man makes its way down the streets, while nature itself ignores its busy pace.
The cicada’s sing one last song as I breathe in day. I think about family, time, and the legacy in which I leave. Meanwhile the Kingdom of Man spins so fast. As those of us of the Earth, are well aware. Aware that this too shall pass, and legacy and memory are all we’ll leave behind. But I’m at peace with that, for once I return to the dust, I will always live again.