Sometimes

Sometimes, I feel huge and important;
As though my specific life and cares matter to the Universe.

Sometimes, I feel small and insignificant.
Understanding myself the ant to an all powerful being,
Or, the amoeba to a cold, insentient cosmos.

Sometimes, I tend my vegetable garden and feel one with nature.
I feel hope as I dig my roots into ancient soil.

Sometimes, I see a fresh blossom on a late September vine
And I ache with the understanding that this new hope is dependent upon a dying life-source.

And, I wonder:

Do my hopes and plans branch from a fresh June vine?

Or, are they the last hopeful thought of a dying October annual?

What a silly thing, to cry over a small yellow flower that will never know pollination.
That will never know the birth of a fruit;
Or know that, still in its prime and glory, it will be thrown

Thoughtlessly, into the compost heap.

How can I know if my life has been set in time with the turning wheel?
Or, if I was born out of sync, never to see life's full revolution?

Who are the chosen who travel the long path?
Who are the lucky?

Sometimes, I wonder.