Your Editor On Meaning

The Realization

A man walking in the forest paused in thought at an idyl illuminated by sunbeams reaching through the branches above.

Struck by the beauty, a mood seized the man and he asked of the rocks, "why am I here?". Mute, the Earth was content to feel the man's weight, understanding neither the question nor curiosity.

Frustrated, the man repeated, this time to the trees, "why am I here?" Silent, the boughs slowly swayed as they regarded the man; wondering at their mobile cousin and his importunings.

Looking higher still, past the long yellow fingers warming the glen, the man asked of the sun, "tell me, why am I here?" But His first creation could only warm His likeness, granting neither wisdom nor knowledge.

"It is just so," realized the man slowly. And he turned on his heel and returned to his place in life. The place that a man crafts himself, knowingly or not, out of opportunities and obligations. Out of worry and of love.

Certain now, the man hurried home.