Imagine. Circlet fleeting attraction, cudgel
mesh confusion dilates
to navigate interaction laced paths
deciphering poorly from gestures weaved through air
the silent urgings of denser souls.
On days where collisions reverberate
savour the universe in miniature
rendered by our chaotic contributions
tis miracle world turns at all.
In blue and yellow from its grave
Springs up the crocus fair…
.- H.Beecher Stowe
In the days before Saint Valentine, when cultural memory hung transient and Gaia had not yet beget he who they called Eros and we Cupid, there was an idea of soul.
We make mates of these in a cup and string map linked the world over, connecting fragments of the same star.
If sometimes we see the echoes of past, character and language within each other, remember that we were fashioned of the same distant dust long ago.
Happy birthday dearest :)