From the Sidewalk to the Grave

As time presses forward folks are inclined to setup. To form in their ways like concrete. Cracks will form, and we... try not to step on those cracks. Superstition? Perhaps it's easier not to combat someone's flawed notions. 

There are rare periods of demolition and repair, for some. Mostly though people are rudimentary and have no interest in adapting or changing. No matter what the comfort level is they are settled. Perhaps you're familiar with the term "concrete jungle." 

Beneath some are dark places. The metaphorical storm drains where keys are lost and secrets are held against their will. These things are not so common in small towns. That's because people have their own septic systems and deal with their own. 

Crowded areas breed the excess and viciousness. Those numbers make it hard for someone to know everyone's name or feel important to a community. These big populations stretch the comfort of neighborhoods beyond stability. Outcasts or simply forgotten souls resort to drastic measures so they'll be remembered. 

Having the proper foundations, that structural concrete which holds up or walls, allows us shelter. Some leak, food and even fall disparagingly victim to sink holes. Funny how our nature is overpowered by natural forces... Usually the events mandate repair. These reminders of mortality make us change things up to make them stronger. 

When there's wet cement we put up signs. Much like testing situations, we want to warn people to avoid unnecessary distractions. After all, getting wet concrete on shoes and things means it will dry and nearly ruin the material before it can be removed. 

We often have paving stones near our gardens... These remote pieces of wisdom, no matter the shape, bring solid steps near fertile ground. Stability next to horticultural tranquility. 

Our headstones and vaults are the final concrete. Often etched with words chosen by someone else to be the final image where one can be visited. Proper notes might be a good idea to communicate what lasting words will rest before the world as the grass grows over your slumber below. 

Perhaps our homes were always meant to be separate from nature. Foundations to hold our ways and shelter our minds just removed from the tree-lines or wilderness. Driveways like breadcrumbs or gravel leaving to the solid places we rest our heads. Built on our values and we're set in our ways. The safety to raise children and gather with family. Praying for continued stability and the peace to enjoy the world surrounding what can be stubborn or crude ways. 

With time we should look for the cracks. Attempt to strip up the weaker sections and improve our base. Sometimes the world will overtake us without a warning. Mostly, we have every opportunity to soak in the beautiful world. It is only when we are reckless and have too many folks setting up carelessly that we are consumed by nature and ourselves.

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Music: 

I know he'd be a poorer man, if he never saw an eagle fly...

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