The Question

A beautiful spring day, back in another lifetime.
Tom, aged three, gazes up at the sky,
sees absurdly fluffy white clouds scudding across the cobalt blue,
watches a crow soaring on the breeze,
hears the music of moving air through creaking branches and dancing leaves.
He stands, transfixed for a moment, an eternity for a three-year-old,
then turns to me, eyes full of wonder and hope.
"How does the world work mummy?" he says.

In the two decades and more that have passed while I have been working on that question, I have learnt much:
I know why the sky is blue,
how the Moon moves the oceans,
why we have seasons.
I understand what makes stars shine,
what happens when galaxies collide,
how light and matter interact to shape the Universe.

But there is much I don't understand:
The minds of others,
the workings of my own heart,
whether there is a reason for it all.

I understand enough to know that I can't go back in time,
that the lost years are gone forever,
that I can't alter the past.
Cause and effect cannot change places.

A wise man tells me
"You can only start from where you are now".
And so, here and now, at every moment,
I start again.
Finding questions.
Practising the art of living with no answers.