It is time. The edges of the day are frayed and my curves have grown brittle. I am going stiff where life once flourished. You can see the lines from afar. My breath grows more shallow, my oceans less deep. The mysteries of my existence are either being fully unveiled or or will be lost completely. I cannot give any more. I have a little left and there are a few left to care. I have learned to let go of the beauty I once crafted so delicately. Life was a dance and now I can barely shuffle my feet. I am in for the deep good night. I am ready to lay dormant. I no longer crave to unfurl, I crave to recover.
Perhaps each being comes into their existence as a beautiful flower only to experience disintegration across a lifetime. Decomposition starts long before dying. We fall apart long before we truly see any signs. Then it becomes too late: we are captured, entangled, getting eaten away slowly. Until we too are shuffling towards death's door; until we too fear the brittle sensitivities of a body that can no longer stand the gravity that comes with the force of living. Slowly we slow down until moving becomes too much. It can take a lot of time for the breath of life to leave at space. Once it’s gone, only stardust remains, mingling with the universe until the energy dissipates completely.
How does the Earth die? It’s not in one final quick flash. We all want it to be that way but death is rarely quick and clean. Rather it comes slowly across the horizon; steady in movements but working at its own speed. It is a cowboy, an illusion disappearing and reappearing along the prairie. We fear its approach, crave its absence and can’t stop watching it. Surely though it is coming and the approach is nothing predictable. Should we make ourselves comfortable or prepare to fight?