June earthquakes

Maybe fear is the amulet for perishing improper. The fear of losing back pages orderly leads to the forfeiture of dreaming a future and the certitude that tomorrow will be better. It is such a looming catastrophe that you attempt to exorcise it, at any cost..

Maybe the void that grows larger with each milestone, each graduation, wedding, birth announcement, death, whatever amplifies emotions and fixes them on the canvas of age, is but a useful foreboding of the dimension to come. And it is not all gloom and death!

Maybe the sun, finally on a light-abundant power mode for these mossy northern loins,
bleaches out reservations, propriety, doubt and inference in exchange for simplicity, decisiveness  and stealth execution.

Maybe my heart is, at last, opposite of scared and small.

Maybe I can hear my own roar triumphant.