Enlivens leaves in their languid dance.
Hear the song of the old trees, singing for you
For the dark, resting woods.
So many seasons have passed; they did not wait.
The golden leaves dying on the ground
Will be reborn under bright skies
As this weatherworn world remains the same,
And tomorrow, you and I will be gone.
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“In general, I try and distinguish between what one calls the Future and “l’avenir” [the ‘to come]. The future is that which – tomorrow, later, next century – will be. There is a future which is predictable, programmed, scheduled, foreseeable. But there is a future, l’avenir (to come) which refers to someone who comes whose arrival is totally unexpected. For me, that is the real future. That which is totally unpredictable. The Other who comes without my being able to anticipate their arrival. So if there is a real future, beyond the other known future, it is l’avenir in that it is the coming of the Other when I am completely unable to foresee their arrival.”- Jacques Derrida
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