The weeds, never self-rooted, not restrained by
Wills of their own, but by the wills of Other.
Many tumbleweeds stroll by,
being propelled
By the winds of time; some
good, some ill.
The triumphs and traumas
embedded in them
Serve as scenes from afar
that one witness as
A judge, like a movie to be
viewed and reviewed,
As an unction to be acted upon
or discarded to let die.
What mean they, what they
meant, should mean,
Should have meant. Images
as the past teleported into the
Present, portending a
future whose roots are in
The distant and
not-so-distant past, yet eons past,
Ages past, eons more, ages
more, lives past. Yesterday,
Yesteryear. The past,
grandfathers of the present.
The present, grandmothers
of the future.
What will the future be –
let the
Tumbling weeds be the
silent instructors.
Our future is the witness
to the past.
The pasts, witnesses to the
present.
The future has no will of
its own – it is the
Outcome of the wills of the
past and the
Present. Whatever the
future will be must
Be established in the
present where the past
Is being worked out, which
present in
The future is the past. And
in all of these, the
Maker of all things is
there also. Tumbleweeds.
(Thinking on and watching images in the mind,
what they mean, what they don’t.)
~Mary H
Moore©
