The Flight of the Samara

Let it go, dear friend, let it go.

You are not alone in your grief.

Sit down with me here, on the river bank.

Rest a while by the cool and purling water,

And listen how the river sings to us.

Let someone else hold the world together.

Let others shout, and stomp, and pound on doors

While we lie back and lose ourselves in the clouds.

Like the flight of the winged samara,

Life should be carefree, without design,

A glorious dance in the wind. And nothing more.

It would be simpler, less of a hurting thing,

If we were never to reach out--

To live without purpose, or direction, or love.

How merrily the samara waltzes through the air,

Whirling and twisting as it blows along,

Tossed about capriciously

Until, with the dying of the breeze,

It falls, fluttering, to the ground--

On a hillside, perhaps, or in a meadow,

Alone--yet not alone.

That would be nice, would it not,

To end the journey so quietly,

To let the warm forgiving earth

Cover us over and fold us in,

To sleep and dream

Until we waken to another springtime

And new beginnings.