Everything changes

Life is the Moon

Black, black, black night. Its stillness pervades the unkempt garden, enveloped in the blanket of stars.
I meant to plant the strawberries today, or maybe the rhubarb. But it was raining, so I didn’t. Instead I wrote and did some designing, and gazed at my baby with a mixture of sorrow and joy.
Transience stabs like a knife, when you let it. When you open yourself to awareness. You can’t have one without the other though. Even as I find happiness, there are needle pricks in my eyes.
Don’t ever leave me. Don’t ever change.
But the world turns. And life… life is the moon, with her cold face. There is no compassion for a mother’s cries.