Sines of Life

When I look into the depths of the trees.

Or far ocean’s horizon.

Or the clouds that wisp in the curve of a mountain.

I feel drawn away from me.

Like my soul has gone looking for me.

Is it wanderlust?

Or do I lust to wander and be lost?

Am lost I already?

In a y=mx+b life.

Sitting on the line of mediocrity.

There are transformations that bring me above or below

But the core of the function is the same.

Always on the straight and narrow.

I want rainbows in my hair.

I want rain and sun and leaves and snow to touch me.

I want to watch the sun rise on every corner of the world.

I’m tired of just imagining.

I want a parabolic function, or cubic, ir sinusoidal

Yes sinusoidal.

Because with the lows there are highs.

And the lows define the highs.

The transformations define the depth and breadth and amplitude.

But there’s the promise of adventure.

The promise of a rise behind every fall.

Like the sun.

Like the tides.

Like the moon.

The sines of life are signs of life.

And they repeat, of course.

With every fall, there’s the promise of a rise.

Just as the sun sets, and darkness calls.

There’ll always be light tomorrow.