The thrust of our physical aspirations in such brightly ignorant wisdom, leaping and bounding across life’s field. Shaking trees and racing every creature of new events, soaking hind-sighted wisdom with a short and grinning glance over the shoulder. Then to mis-fire on some quiet, unexpected day and to yearn for the space to shake the mane of life’s proud achievements, but to find instead the sand just coating the glass in mocking scorn of the wealth with which we came to the last glass.
The preacher said “Remember your Creator before the sun and the light and the moon and the stars grow dark, and the clouds return after the rain; when the keepers of the house tremble, and the strong men stoop, when the grinders cease because they are few, and those looking through the windows grow dim; when the almond tree blossoms and the grasshopper drags himself along and desire no longer is stirred. Then man goes to his eternal home and mourners go about the streets. Remember him—before the silver cord is severed, or the golden bowl is broken; before the pitcher is shattered at the spring, or the wheel broken at the well
Shakespeare has his own classy description:
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consum’d with that which it was nourish’d by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
What is the jewel we leave this world with? Who has found it and managed to hang onto it as the dark corridor welcomes us to new and unimagined shores?