Spring
Spring reminds us that death stalks all things. That even in a time of life, when the air swarms with windsong and perfumes, flowers turn brittle. Petals become translucent and papery, like the skin of the elderly. That a bird may make that final journey landing somewhere unseen. Insects find themselves attached to puddles, their desperate thrum rippling across the surface in ever decreasing arcs. Time becomes smaller and minutes reach out to full lifetimes as the smallest creatures struggle against a world for whom their time is only an iota, the merest mote upon a strong wind that carries everything along with it, silently bearing everything to an ending.