I love that jazz does not need to resolve itself,
because, although the overarching story of our lives,
may have a beginning, middle, and end
the rest of it often doesn’t.
It bleeds into itself, informs itself
takes detours and goes unexpected ways.
Our lives are like that,
the seasons come and go erratically
and that’s okay.
We let the waves come and go as they will,
venturing forth into the unknown
until at last we find the end,
which of course only just the beginning.