The end of a dull day

On this day every living bushveld thing grew a tiny bit. And remains busy, continuously doing it. Everything that breathes and moves did its thing today, is doing it tonight, while some were even born or died, or at the point of doing so.

Life does go on a bit for most, starts and stops but once for all. Forever sharing the space is the lot and privilege among those alive in the moment. All things that happen in a moment are also happening now, somewhere, mainly out of sight, for limits are imposed in both space and time. They eat each other, whoever they are, mostly not mutually though. They mate, give birth, or simply yawn and burp.

The quiet of an uneventful sunset conceals the facts and imperfections, the joys and tragedies that have just taken place and are imminent, here and everywhere. The spot occupied by every living thing impacts upon its fortune of the moment. It acts according to its nature and the prods of events that include or involve it.

Does it have a choice? Sure, it chooses and does all that allocated hands and feet or wings, leaves and thorns or brains and tongues, whatever its endowment will allow, at different moments of its allotted time. Other unrelated things occur as well, impacting on the own events, the personal and life-changing ones.

The sun sets over it all, regularly. That vast and volatile nuclear cauldron that is not alive but sustains life in faraway places.