While traveling today, I happened to pass a field of sunflowers. Over the past few months, I've passed it many times. In the spring, when they were just emerging, in the summer, when they formed a joyous cacophony of yellow and now in fall, when they formed a darkening procession of mourners, lamenting the passing of life and time. In a few weeks, they will crumble to dust, leaving no trace of their existence until next spring, and their cycle begins anew.
The whole scene was obviously rather melancholy, with the skies supplying tears for the botanical funeral procession. It was also appropriate, I feel, since I have just completed what is most likely my last summer in Bulgaria. With nine and a half months to go before I have to resume the "normal" course of my life, it feels like I've entered a season of endings. There is still much to be done, though, and I'll doubtless be kept too busy to really dwell overmuch on this sort of thing. After all, I have to get everything in order for the life-reboot.
I suppose it's just one of those things that you have to occasionally step back and watch: the passage of time and your position in it. Much like the sunflowers, we have our own cyclical nature; birth, production, decay, gestation/reflection, repeat. While we may not be as punctual or predictable as they are, it's still worth bearing in mind.
Later, flipsiders.
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