Da n ja Moose

The orange moon laughed at the end of a long journey of setbacks, my future written in its rosy glow, Mie scattering the wavelengths -
and yet all I can scatter is my life again to different corners of the planet, leaving boxes and bikes stacked in storage units and loose ends dangling like bumpers on the side of a tug boat.

Goal posts hanging just out of reach, at the edge of what my fingertips grasp just as the floor gives way beneath, each time. But what is life but an endless march of cycles, each giving way to the next, eroding away the things that don't matter to expose what does? Is it the destination in the end, or the journey that really pulls on the heart strings and calls us to keep turning corners and pages, looking for something we can't name.

The mundane trivialities of life creating an unwritten story that tells so much more than the snapshots we share - so why work jobs or lead lives we must escape from? I strive to create time for reflection and conversation and not worry about the goal posts - after all, mile markers are just meant to give a sense of direction, they're not meant as a destination in and of themselves.