Golden sunshine this evening. The trees wave, birds dart from branch to branch, ready to sing the sun to bed. The older I get, the more I like springtime.
Strange then that I should feel like bursting into tears. I do though. My eyes sting and my head’s heavy; no reason, at least nothing obvious. I just feel a bit melancholy.
I was listening to a podcast about eschatology, the study of the biblical view of end of the world. Cheery. It’s such a messy topic - you can interpret so much of it in a hundred different ways, and there are long, theological, academic labels for everything. It’s like a physicist trying to describe spaghetti. I gave up. Why can’t someone just make it simple? And useful!
I think I’m tired, more than anything. That would explain the melancholy mood. The weird thing is that I’m not sad particularly. I’m a little fed up and I’m a lot confused by life, but I’m not upset. Still the tears bubble beneath the surface.
Perhaps that’s what eschatology needs - a little aching, a deep longing for a better world. Maybe it really is just tears before bedtime, the last winter before the longest spring. Perhaps I should do my own podcast.
Sigh. I don’t know. I think I envy the birds out there, singing to the sun from the dappled branches, not because anyone is listening, not because the sun even knows their song, but simply because that, above all things, is what they do.
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