things that don't matter

when i was a little girl, my grandfather's back yard was a jungle. wrapped in summer, trees taller than the moon, it had a little pond, old porch swings, and a few elusive cats. the garden was full of fresh raspberries. at night the sound of a train sang us all to sleep. it was so exotic, the train--calling out to me from the rest of the world and places i had never been. still, every train in the night sounds just like my childhood there.

i wondered what that memory means. why it might matter to anyone. it matters to me because it affirms my continued existence as a single individual, or some such thing. all i really know is that it comes back, every time i hear the sound. but nobody else cares, do they? it isn't their past.

it might matter... someday. mightn't it?

because someday, maybe, a child will be born who will never hear the sound of a train at night.

what a strange attempt to validate my own expression. in the unlikely event that trains become obsolete, mere shadows of ages passed away... then my memories of that sound will matter? what a scenario.

on the other hand, so what if it doesn't matter, right?

lots of things don't matter. like... this tree:

this tree is the largest spruce tree in the world. dad insisted we stop and take a look at it last weekend. here are all its details, for anyone who's curious.

so what? what's being the world's biggest spruce going to do for this tree? it gets a few visitors. it has a big blue plywood sign standing in front of it. someday it will fall down anyway.

everything does.
but the world is quite a glorious place, isn't it? meaninglessness and all.