Us bugs traveling on this rock, hurtling out into nowhere.
I looked into the sky, seeing massive cumulus clouds in exquisite detail. Replanting a mango tree I had grown from a seed into a bigger pot, I felt connected to this plant. Planting it, I became responsible for its life. In this endless life and death cycle. Planets orbit our sun as it circles within the milky way galaxy over a two hundred and twenty five million year period. Again, these galaxies moving outward at unfathomable speeds outward into the ever-expanding black.
We are Don Quixote. Tilting against windmills that we think are dragons. Old yet new, we sit, our armour rusty and dented across time. The dirt gathered under our fingernails, boots worn and damaged with age. We sit on an old stone bench that could have been here when the Romans marched across these lands. Their a leather and armour creaking and clanking, that all lay rusting in death now. As this planet orbits around the sun, within the spinning galaxy that surely heads towards a collision with the andromeda galaxy six to nine billion years from now.
Destruction and reformation.
Something old becomes something new. Yet still, we hurl outward. Life, death, and reformation. Will we remember across these lives that we’ve lived, a thousand million times? Perhaps not, but yes is a possibility. To commemorate the lives well lived and the ones wasted. As this planet spins, staring into a small screen with intensity. The massive cumulus clouds form and dissolve. The sky clear, then not.
Looking into the sky, this bug clinging to a rock looks on and wonders.