Tulips, for me - grow the year round

 

Many things come to mind when I look at the far corner of my office.  I see a great collision of words, a crowded freeway of ideas and maybe a bit of a compost pile.

These are all thoughts that have flowed through a pen or have been hammered out on a keyboard, splattered onto a page and collected in an order that made sense to someone somewhere.

Now, although no longer fresh, can still grow and flourish the moment they are once again read.  Reading them, I see as sprinkling water on seeds that remain in the earth.  They are thoughts that live far beyond the thinker.  Stories, even the ones told and told again, can come back to life. 

The ending need not change, for the reader is forever themselves changing.  I am not the person I was the last time I read about Zelda Fitzgerald.  I see things in Charlotte’s Web that I didn’t notice the first time.  The sun now enters my office window at a different angle and alters the feel of the room, which may, in some slight way, tweak my outlook, or cast a shadow on what I once found important.

It's never The End