A Poet's Journal: February 6th, 2015
Snow today; a flock of cranes returning north. It is mysterious the way things are set in motion. There is plenty in our imagination to dream about, but none of it determines an actual course, and when we begin to look upon it as such, we are amazed already at what has sprouted up. We think we know what the weather will be like tomorrow, what time we have to be at a certain place, what we need to have, what we need to do--in all of these things imagination plays a part and we are left with silly looks on our faces the moment we realize that we hold not the key, that we have not the meaning, that everything happens, not with our acknowledgement, but without it. We live our lives centered around the fact that we know, scared of unknowing, and creating reasons to support our theory. It is of course not the idea of imagining that is wrong, but of getting stuck in one dimension of it. We are too malleable as people to hold such strict views. Even the cranes, on one of the coldest days of the year, have decided to feel spring in the air.