You can’t see it from here, but I trust me, it is coming.
Surely as morning follows night, spring follows winter.
Seeds and roots beget grow, new babies are born, old critters die, and we all return to ashes and dust.
We want this pandemic to be over, but that’s like wanting winter to be over when it is not yet time – like wanting decisions to turn out right even when they are built on wrong-headed thinking or ill-considered execution.
Nothing is inevitable, yet everything seems that way; we know because our post-mortem on disastrous events, failed arrangements and off-rail projects all end up with somebody around the table saying in exasperated tones, “well, that was inevitable.”
Puts me in mind of Thoreau’ famous words: “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation…A stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of mankind.” Keep shouting, Mark, RH, Calgary, AB (from Bradenton, FL)