Et in Arcadia Ego

It is "a day of peculiar splendor [...] when leaf and flower and bird and sun-lit stone and shadow seem all proclaim the glory of God."

Et in Arcadia ego. Spring at long last has arrived. The earth is teeming with budding greenery that's pushed its way up through frosted soil to greet Apollo.

On this day, on a sun-drenched span of weathered wooden planks of decking, I took my coffee and fell in love with Gaia once again; as I often do.

Here, under the embrace of Terra Mater's spell, I reflected on such things as those which haunt a man of prime who has yet endowed the world with the full manifestations of his dreams and fantasizes his epitaph; someday; hopefully not near; a long one.

So much to do, so little done, and time, uncaring, continues at it's steady pace. The seasons come and go like temperamental waters; having the great might to permanently etch and carve out canyons in the soul or in gentle effortless cunning slip past the fingers of a cupped hand that vainly attempts to capture them much longer than is entitled.