Purple Snow

Purple Snow

 

Dreamscape

       Purple snow falls softly all about in this warm breeze that rattles the trees. I dream of white snow, dancing on the breeze, tickling my senses, bringing a blush to my cheeks. This purple snow of my childhood, of the tree that I used to climb and read in, of my home town, is so beautiful, so delicious and yet I dream of whiter pastures. If I lived in the white snow, would I miss and yearn for the purple snow?
    This vibrant, delicate and translucent display that flashes over the neighbourhood signaling the countdown to christmas, the countdown to summer fruits, the countdown to the end of another year and the beginning of another. Bitter sweet time of year, full of joy and celebrations and realisations of what has transpired and what has not come to fruition. Have we moved closer or further from where we want to be? Do we consciously choose life, our lives, or are we just swept along by daily distractions and external expectations? Another year passes and our whole lives are no longer laid out in front of us, bright and shiny and full of possibilities.
    I stand in the middle of my life and look around, behind is my past- did I choose it, did it choose me? How much of it made me who I am, how much of who I am made it what it is? Or did it just happen on the way to somewhere else- the future.

“The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
    Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.”
                                                                        Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

    I glance forward and the future laid out before me is no longer so long but somehow seems wider with possibilities.
    I stumbled to here, a little blindly, a little oblivious, a little just not paying attention, but now I steady myself and look at the paths laid out ahead. So many paths, all unique and all seem beautiful with life. But which path is mine? Oh but if I could only walk them all…
    Each path forks again, just out of sight, with such mystery. I can stand here hesitating, not trusting, not knowing but life will sweep me along regardless. Or I can choose a path, take a lunge, even step boldly off the path, perhaps risking darkness, to bring a better sunrise.