Memories

these are the memories
lives are made from,
living in days
chasing the sun
until the nights set into fun.

but this is destiny,
is _this_ destiny?

tracing fate
on tree rings,
relishing their rapids
and cascades
of cause and effect
to fall upon the knots
of existance,
the limbs of persistance
and leaves with buds of color
that gift the eyes
and gift the grounds
as our lives
spawn lives
widening our minds
and those who surround.

winds like telephone cables...
feebly, ignorantly passing fables
becoming tall tales:
to be a redwood at youth.