Dew

I was looking at some old, old writing, typed on a typewriter of all things, a story about Richard Lucas and his cousin, Lizzy. Pretty bad stuff, all in all, but it meant something to me then, back when I wrote it.

The story is called "All Our World" and begins with a quote from Issa, who, I'll look up on the internet because I have no idea who he/she is but I must have known when I wrote this long ago story.

Anyhow, here's the quote: "Dew evaporates/and all our world/is dew...so dear, so fresh, so fleeting."

Whoever Issa  was, he/she nailed that one in a big way.

Life seems endless from time to time, in the moment, but, like our world, life is dew...so dear, so fresh, so fleeting.

Whatever happened to typewriters? The story is typed on several different kinds of paper--some typing paper, other lined paper torn from a notebook, and, finally, some on a thin, yellow paper I remember using once but I couldn't tell you when.

It seems like I've been alive a long time sometimes. But, at other times, it seems but a heartbeat.

Dew. It's all like dew...so dear, so fresh, so fleeting.

I love the dew, though, as a retired guy, I'm seldom up early enough to feel it on my ankles as I walk through the grass. But there's something almost holy about dew--how it welcomes the day so sweetly.

I'm going now to look up Issa and see what else he/she had to say that worth pondering....