sometimes you're the bug, and sometimes you're the windshield.
think about this................I don't think I want to be either.
I want to be the scene that sticks in your mind as you drive by............in the night, the solitary house, far back from the road, yellow light in the windows, moonglow fanning out across the landscape gilding silver the dark and solitary landscape....except the yellow light in the windows...........and when you remember the scene, you think, "Who lives in that house, so snug, safe from harm, cared for, protected?"
or look fleetingly down at the roadbed as you drive by..........and notice the tiny white flowers that are stubbornly growing at the edge of the hot asphalt, and the green of the grass, and the gold of the field, and think, "Who protects this land, who nurtures the flowers, and waters the grass?"
I wish to be the landscape bathed in the silvery glow of the Wolf Moon...I want to submerge in the yellow light in the window...I want to be the nurtured flower, and grass and field.
for some there is no yellow light in the window, for some no flowers, no grass; only the moonlight, leading us into the dark land. We shimmer, we disappear, and appear, in and out of light we walk, ever walking, no warm windows, no green grass, no white flowers.