Standing in the slippery slope of death.  Watching someone slide out of sight.  Sloshing between spirit invisible unknown and tiresome powerless fading senses.

Make believe stories of eternal faith against the so-called truth of mature human reality.  Timeless friends and family shrink to dust.  Photos disapper into cluttered boxes and new myths elbow the elders out of line.

Why create?  Why produce?  Why breathe with such cyclical banality?  Good question.  No right answer.

Just is that I am to be before to not be after.  Just be better every day.  Is that competition or pushing against personal best?  What if better was an illusion of comparison?

Nature knows.  Just grow.  Up and around and through.

And repeat.