At the end of summer so many little funerals are held in the great church that is nature. Flowers die, leaves wear their ceremonial dress of color as they sway gently to face their inevitable end, grains are harvested and their stems left to dry and return to the earth. So yes, “everything returns to the source of its arising” and so will each one of us one day. But there is a glory in this cycle of life and death, of flowering and withering, of fulfilling a purpose and then gracefully passing the baton to another. Flowers blossom again, trees grow new leaves, all is renewed and if we are lucky and if we have done well then perhaps so are we.
Dwelling on the mysteries of life that never cease to flirt with my mind and my soul.