In your town...

In your town or mine, somebody is always awake, and somebody, believe it or not, will at any hour be asleep. Each of us rises and reclines to a different drummer, marching to our own uneven music woven of inclination and necessity. We mark our unique patterns on the rough face of chaos, approximate some semblence of order on our moment, if we can.

With luck, our edifice holds until we close our eyes, but Time is indifferent to our difference, will eventually erase our last faint trace in her endless, aimless becoming. What does it mean that I lie down beneath the moon if the sun doesn't wake me in the morning? Maybe nothing more than this: He did the best he knew by his own limited light, and then he slept.

If that is all life means, it still means something.

Photo: Main and Sixth, 9 pm, Hendersonville NC

Henry's books.


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