Everything Revolves

Everybody dies. But that doesn't mean much until it's someone close to you. Everything organic dies: animals, plants, insects. Everything that ever lived under the sun dies in the end. The sun rises, sets. The moon rises, sets. The seasons go round. Winter comes: life folds into itself, dormant. Spring comes: life surges out, restarts.

When you are young, you know for a fact you are immortal. Then everyone dies on you, and you know for a harder fact you are not. That like the departed, when you're time comes, mysteriously, this world made for you alone will disappear- for you alone. That life will go on without you. That other people, animals, plants, will rise and have their day. That in a strange and consoling and terrible and beautiful way, life will go on. All kinds of life, under the circuits of the same sun and moon.

An elegy for the recent dead. A film poem about the life cycle and and learning to accept mortality with grace- or whatever it takes... Life is revolution. Everything revolves.