In the end, each of us has
only his own heart, her own. What moves us or may move us varies, depending on genes and childhood experience and our adult desires. Think about how the world has changed. In the 1950s, we took what we got and were glad for it. Clothes were handed down from cousins; a bottle of Royal Crown Cola to celebrate the 4th of July was the only soda all year. Now even the poorest, most remote citizen watches television, sees everything, wants it all. It is small wonder the world rattles with its fears - every day we are shown that which we do not have, that which we cannot have. How can I be happy? My life is nothing like what's on TV. This is a great leveling of dreams and it leaves us all that much poorer. Take me back, would you, take me back to when I had nothing yet everything was possible. Now I can only get whatever it is everyone else can get. We are all poorer for that.
Dismount!
Stand at ease, soldier. Aren't you getting a little old to be riding such a high horse?
Sir, yes, sir!
A very icy driveway, this morning. A coating of ice on the windshield of the pick-up. Grey haze overhead. The street, too, is icy. Main Street has been salted; even so, you cannot be certain of anything.
North of Fairwater, a line of geese works its way south. The open highway seems mostly clear, with scattered patches of frost showing. A sparrow hawk on a power line this morning is in charge of all he sees - at least all of it he can take.
If we are sensitive to everything, we are sensitive to nothing. The power to understand lies inside the power to choose. Indiscriminate passion leaves us scattered.
Crow hovers above the road just south of Ripon. He has lost his way. In a tree nearby another crow watches with bemusement, thinking life is not so tough, thinking your choice doesn't have to be the perfect choice, thinking where you land now is not your final resting place.
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