The sad reality of our existence is that nothing is permanent. In the beginning, the well of youth seems vast, too vast to ever exhaust. Tentatively we lower the pail of our innocence into those black waters and take a sip of adventure.
As the years' pass, we dip our bucket quicker and faster, sloshing that vital elixir carelessly in our haste for gratification. We draw more and more from the well until one fateful day we see a glimmer of stone shimmering below the surface. Some suffer a moment of dread, some refuse the truth of their eyes, some bow their head in resignation. There is an end after all. Now, we hesitate with our hand on that frayed rope, knowing there are so few fills left. In that moment we know what we have lost.
Parents vanish from our lives, siblings are mislaid among harsh words and caustic looks. Treasured belongings tarnish and rust, lovers grow weary, skin creases and folds, while lushes locks turn grey and adorn morning pillows. The only thing which remains constant is our honour. In the cold dark of night, when we see only a hand full of drops in our bucket, the deeds of our past come to stoke the fire in our soul.
Will we be comforted by a lifetime of love? Will we feel reassured by the way we treated our fellow wanderers on this path of life or will we be haunted by envy, gluttony and greed? Will abandoned friends, jilted lovers and resentful family be the people that litter our memory?
Who knows, perhaps a little of both.
Life is fleeting, so while there's water in your pail, drink carefully, and in the dead of night may your honour keep you forever warm.
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