Let’s face it the leaves are dead a gust of wind sends them up into the sky and for a while they float as they come drifting down to the ground and I see them from the bay window and think that there’s a lesson to be learnt here green gone to a golden rust supple life turned friable to the touch and all of this the way of the world but the atoms are not dead and I know of no way in which they might decompose : surely they will enter the earth and be drawn up via the web of roots to flourish once again on a living branch one distant spring that I doubt you or I will ever see
As night fell the two or three colours of the courtyard grew tired. This evening, the moon, the bright circle, does not dominate its space. Courtyard, funnelled sky. The courtyard is the slope down which the sky pours into the house. Serene, eternity awaits at the stars’ crossroad. How pleasant to live in the obscure companionship of a hallway, a water tank and a vine.
Jorge Luis Borges
Translated by John Lyons
Jorge Luis Borges (24 August 1899 – 14 June 1986) was an Argentine short-story writer, essayist, poet and translator, and a key figure in Hispanic Literature.
Flocks of small birds maybe a hundred or more flying in dark clouds that resemble bee swarms or the swarms of ions and electrons in gases while the Mars rover sends back graphic images of what climate change can do to a planet
Dust as far as the eye can see and a barren loveless surface and what we most long for is life here or anywhere else in the universe rich fertile recreational life in every shape and form warm technicolor life and the atomic pulse of love that never dies
Somehow it all makes sense and by that I mean the matter of life I mean that element of the universe that does not die but goes on and on from here to eternity from the first three seconds of creation to now and beyond the energy and mass of the cosmos and how one is relayed to the other and life is the origin of life just as love is the origin of love and nature that hunkers down for the long winter months but as it does so is already hatching a plan to return in spring jealously guarding its secret blossom until the time is right and it can show to the world that it cannot be stopped
Resurrection is relentless because it is the ultimate means of survival and there is not a single form of life that is ever ready and willing to give up the ghost to lay down and die
We two how long we loved held each others’ lives in our lives lived among trees and rocks and cities walled with steel and glass travelled down to the shore watched the infinite waves roll in trod the sand and sheltered from the wind
We two who braved the bitter cold or sought shade when temperatures rose we who despised the predatory hawks who seek only to pick life to pieces we who dreamt of a land of milk and honey and woke each day to the scent of orchids bedded all our hopes in the power of love prayed to the resplendent sun of blue skies we two whose paths drew the same circles found freedom and trust and beauty and delight in the simple day after day after day after day side by side