Forever and a Day
Taken out of their humdrum context, our daily artefacts seem preposterous. We snatch at the next prize and the next as if we are immortal, but in the end it is not us, but our detritus which lasts for ever, compacted in the great lost-and-found bin of the ground.
On the surface, a pair of canaries go about their business amongst dew-dropped scarlet flowers. Worms wind their way around the trash and a mole peeks out at us. At the very bottom, browned with age, is a human skull. We are swept up in our dream, and who cares what remains?