This morning, were your arms long enough, you could have made shadow puppets on the moon. A part of that penumbra, after all, is you. Right? Right.
Things always change, one of those little logical ironies that abound if you keep a sharp eye out for them. Perhaps this is why the truth, unchangeable, bears repeating. There is comfort in the same. The same. One day rivers and shorelines will shift. Even mountains wear down and valley fill up. Glaciers march forward and back. Speed it up and it's a writhing, wiggling world. The truth, however, bears repeating. Some things never change.
Once, penning the drunken reflections of a fallen angel, I wrote, "It's not hitting the ground that hurts the worst, it's staying there." I don't believe in fallen angels, but I know the pain of staying on the ground. Metaphors, people. Hyperbole for illustration. It's worse, I think, to be a one-legged man than to be a one-legged bird. A one-winged bird, however, is another story.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
