All stories are old.
Some might even say that there’s only ever been one story:
Life and death.
Or maybe that’s death and life?
And maybe love spins its own winding tale. And friendship, too.
But whether there’s ever been one or a few, even new stories are quite old.
The story is woven of many threads.
Every time the story is told, the weaver invents the world anew.
Even as they follow the primordial pattern,
The teller, the listener, the day-time-season-weather—
Something always changes.
New colors, textures, passions appear.
The story is forever young
Walking an old, old path.
Or maybe I wrote that reversed?
The ancient story treads new ground,
And hitchhikes for a ride.
Come along, Story!
Hop in with your Blues and Fires and Spirits.
The time has come to spin
In and out, round and round,
Until we fall down dizzy
And forget the tale
So we can discover it again.email print