The voice told me not to fall into the uncertain trap of believing in certainties, a difficult thing at the best of times particularly with me liking to know what's around the corner, these certainties would trick me, coerce me into letting my guard down, imagining the rose garden would not let seasons fade it petty petals, imagine that because something is so at that time it would always be so remembered. I know now that this is not only not true but not false either. Point of view, perspective to you rules this roost like a Jay atop a Yew. Things may change, in fact they always do and these truths not only change the them and the you, but the way you are seen and the things that you do. You sit there in front of this screen, yes you: saying he's not saying anything new, he's not dazzling us with marvels or star spangled truth, and I must confess that whilst I type away in the dark feeling blue I am not bedazzling you or playing the flute. But at the beginning of this lark I let you know that a voice had told me all of these words, and none of you have found that in the least bit odd.
Comforting to know I am in the majority.
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