moon slivers and stars

Make it original. Or not. People like what they like. But I’ll leave the garbage to garbage-lovers. They’ll eat it. Lick it up. Love it. Consume one another. Go round-and-round. Create content for the sake of creating content so they can fill their gaping holes—be heard and seen, liked, liked, liked—and followed. But sooner than later they lead people down the path of disappointment. Serving up all that hollow dissatisfaction catches up and they need new garbage to share. So, they go to the landfill—tip-toe through the world wide web of facts, figures, fakery, and imitation—and pick up the best piece of trash they can find, so they can make it their own. Be original. Attract algorithms.

But that’s not what lasts.

AI, quantum computing, Mother Nature, and god know that.

I’ll take the lake breeze, gulls bobbing on waves. The tiny brown squirrel chirping at chickadees that dart back-and-forth to the feeder and sneak sunflower seeds up into the swaying branches of the all-knowing cedar that’s been breathing all of this in for decades. And I’ll watch this big red sun rise to light the day, as it works to keep us warm and steady, so we can live these very real moments—together or alone—and make the choices that carry us to night. With the fireflies and bats, crickets and loons. So, we can sleep soundly beneath moon slivers and stars, knowing we did our best with what we had, and what we’ve made wasn’t made for strangers, but for those that understand what it takes to last.

~ KJ