Discarding Perfection

At last, a sign that I was making progress. I had found perfection. The firewood was stacked as perfectly as could be, as if the logs had all been laid down and sawed together. But I wasn't fooled. I knew perfection was only a waypoint. I could see the sky, there at the end of the rise, and it beckoned, it pleaded, it said laddie, you've got to keep going, and I heard it and I understood. And I kept going and am going still. Still I remember, with a nostalgia often bordering on grief, that perfect stack, that wonder of wonders, that even at the moment of its perception was already dissolving, as if in a dream.

30 April 2025
Jim Lindsey
Prospect, Nova Scotia