We are infinite in our variety, we humans, as are the paths we take from our first breath to our last, each of us appearing with our own oddities and talents. In Roman times talents were coins of exchange and so, perhaps, are talents of being that we gather and spend in our comings and goings, our wild energies of purpose and tangential wanderings, decorating and designing ourselves in our shared realities. We may travel a lot or hardly at all, but all come, in time, to a last road, carrying in our pockets coins we have not yet spent.
For me, these words may be the coins I have left. Here I drop them along the path to be picked up if some might find them worthy, or let lie to serve, perhaps, as compost for the future. In either case, I have no wish to carry them off with me even if I could. Feel free to join me anytime.
An Imaginist 