On Dusty Seasons
Dust, which is a good friend of the seasons,
Tends to linger around us for one of four reasons:
Under the summer suns, the dust affords cognizance of light -
Pencils of which are adorned by it dancing as though by right.
We recognize the stars against their presence in the night,
But would you know there was a stage lit by the light
If you hadn't seen the dancing dust, a moonlit midnight?
As the cold comes so too comes the ache of old bones,
And with it dust that enshrouds the ancient stones.
Is it the gray that hides beneath the dust of winter,
Or the dust that grays bones too old to splinter?
Would you know the weight of years passing by
If the dust did not cover every single lie?
Though time will pass as many things,
One sacred truth about it rings:
The world that weighs your shoulders down
Is just the dust that rusts your crown.
But there is a time when even dust must slumber
A clime of silence broken by the rain and thunder;
But though the dust is fast asleep
It steeps beneath the leaves we reap -
The trees, the shrubs and all that's green,
To leave the world a wondrous dream.
For the rain alone is a season for all senses:
Can you smell the coming of the consequences
Or the presence of the summer sun, the winter chill?
For the gift of petrichor comes only from the dust's goodwill.
But most of all the dust will linger when nothing else will:
When nothing remains to fill the seconds, everything will stand still
Save for the whisper of time as it steals past the void:
Can you hear it rustle, as the dust is swept by it's winds?
The seasons, dust and the passing of time have always been my favorite muses. Me best pieces (in my own humble opinion) have been about either of them in some capacity or the other.
It is often said that everything exists for a reason, though we might not always perceive them. What reason does something as seemingly mundane as dust have to exist?
Even the ordinary lends to the things we love. All you have to do is wonder what the world would be like without them.
