The Erosion of Spring

Time is in perpetual motion. I am sure a phycisist or mathematician would argue that if you travel faster than the speed of light or enter a black hole or multiply infinity by the square root of not-fucking-likely, time will stop. Or the illusion of it.

But as a living creature I know that my life began seemingly in step with Father Time. Stride for stride, even as a chubby kid I felt that time – – my time – – was infinite. I failed to understand then that life does match time’s stride, but youth doesn’t. And while time can leap across canyons, life cannot. Eventually life goes over the edge of the cliff and then splat! – – on the canyon floor.

But it isn’t mortality that sucks, my friends. It is the loss of youth. Mortality is acceptable. We die. Planets die. Stars die. What sucks is getting old. And as living creatures we don’t have the elegance of a dying star – – one final titanic burst at the end that spreads across the universe in all directions. Even a millennia later we can still see their final cry. No, no – – longevity for living creatures is undignified. The process of aging is an insult to the virility of our early years, when we were hopeful and idealistic.

My son is asleep in my bed. Not a teenager yet. He still seeks the comfort of his parents. He still will wants hugs and kisses; cares mostly about video games and sports and dancing. His only worries right now are how to be young.

At the beginning of the thaw, my boy, life is a joy. Beautiful, supple, like water from a mountain stream emerging from winter. But each of our lives are nothing more than seasonal firecrackers to Time. The party eventually becomes dull, and it is time for Time to move on.

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