"All we are is dust in the wind"
I think this is true, though I never cared for that song.
"We are stardust"
Also true. I accept the dust I've made which will cling to me.
In the end, I suppose, we are dust which sings of stars and the wind between,
a surprising thing to think about dust.
It's midnight, and I had to get out of bed to clear my head of a nightmare about dry-fitting a sculpture with pipestone which kept cracking.
True, too true.
Good night, Mrs. Murgatroid.