Shuffle
This morning my wife began a fall clean up operation
Clear pumpkins, decorations, sweep, rake
Silently inciting me to help
I mentally grumbled
What a waste it seemed
Growing, transporting, disposing pumpkins
So they could sit for less than a month
As decorations which no one would give particular notice
As I swept the small complicated spaces
Of our concrete front steps
I imagined this space in 50 years
Lived in? Abandoned?
Dirt ramping the corners
A dusty post apocalypse
100 years?
Maybe the whole house razed to the ground
To make room for something new
Made in whatever style suited the people of that day
1000 Years?
Maybe this whole area overtaken by wild things
Roots cranking the pavement
Flourishing with green life
Dust to dirt to vegetation to ecosystem
Sculpted by the sheer tenacity of self replication
—
What was the point of moving leaves and dust
From stairs, to bags, to dump?
A temporary shuffling of molecules
I thought of everything we move
From this place to that
Toys and tools, decoration, art, dishes and soap
The drawers of paper, the shelves of books
Silicone chips filled with the ones and zeros of our life’s work
All to be left behind in an instant
For someone else to clean up
Our whole lives - Civilizations (!)
All amounting to a pointless shuffling
A temporary zig and zag in the endless
Forward push of an entropic universe
—
Was pushing crunchy brown and orange leaves
From here to there
Any MORE pointless?
I thought of Japanese gardens
The stunning clean perfection
The joy and peace they illicit
If only in our minds
If only for a moment
The army of dedicated sweepers and rakers, trimmers, and scrubbers
I thought of Zen monks mopping a monastery
Quietly moving and mapping each moment — awake, aware.
Of emptiness. Of being.
I felt the warm fall sun on my shoulders
The cool air on my neck
I savored the crisp precise crunch of each leaf
and honored its journey
From solar sugar factory to future dirt
I sweep and rake and smile
Glad to be a part of the shuffle