Melancholia

I wonder what it's like near the end of life more than I wonder what it's like at the beginning.

If it's like being the light at the end of a leaf where the leaf ceases being a leaf and the light begins, or like being the leaf itself and the light is not light but is only something that is not the leaf.

I'm beginning to believe that my life--perhaps all lives--are a bunch of pre-determined synapses God created and from the moment they're God created are thereafter random, accidental, chaotic, becoming themselves without consciousness of you or concern about your person.

It's just a thought I had, that's all, walking down an alley in Olympia, Washington after a sudden rainstorm in the summer for no other reason than wanting to see where I'll be led.