Watching Hockney’s moving landscape wall;
Startled by images of dead birds, morphing.
Speaks of the seasons the landscapes portray
And the ever-fluid nature of nature, of life.
We speak of capturing magic in a bottle.
Our vain attempt to seize everlasting life.
Rendered here in pixels, moving, shifting;
We find a vision which reminds us of change.
Change, not merely dissolution, the second law,
But growth, seed, plant, bud, blossom, fruit.
In the beginning, small to larger, into maturity
After, all decline into eternity, to grow again.
What appears static, because it yearly repeats,
Becomes more mature, fruitful as seasons pass
Still, time calls the meter of life’s dance,
Till we step away, join the most complex figure.
We bow and curtsy, join hands and move;
Change partners, mix until we match, combine.
Valent and covalent, grow into something new.
Growth leads to growth, end in the beginning.