no pics to report

Life is a wheel, as was suggested to me recently (I no longer remember if today at some time …).

It turns, but it also wounds – wounds not winds, and not winds as in the weather but as in time, as it rides roughshod over our ambitions and aspirations.

Those, then, too, are the weals I am thinking of.

And I find it difficult to express my thoughts at this time.  And not because they are poorly formed.  Rather, more, because they encompass all points north and south, and every degree and mark in between.

This is the truth.  My mind is not full of inconclusions but waitings: a real desire to do justice to everyone and everything; a hatred of injustice even where this injustice myself would clearly benefit.

And then there’s love too.

And then there’s love too.

And the future I now yearn for.


No pics, it is true.  But plenty of ambiguity clearly embraced.  For, sometimes, black & white is manifestly not enough.  Sometimes, just sometimes, the truth and honour and nobleness of a situation, circumstance, relationship and life lie in places black & white never will fully communicate.

Nor fully – fairly! – describe.

So no pics.  No certainties.  No gaudy colours to shock, either.  No filters to bemuse.  This is, finally, contactful.

Much love on my part.  And a few small words too.

And occasionally, yer know, such words – even when not quite up to the matter in hand in hand – are enough.  


Sometimes they are.

Of course I love you.  Of course I do.  But we knew this already.  The real question is: is love enough?

It doesn’t have to be.

And there is no shame in saying it is not.

If there were, it would not be love, my love.


Obviously not.





Time for a walk.  Need to think things through.  Want to do things right.  Have to be good.  

And good means learning happy.

And learning happy for me, too.


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