Among such unbearable chaos floats a whisper. Almost inaudible amidst the muck and cranking wheels of tarnished destiny. A familiar ditty, you cannot tell where from. Smooth and uneventful but undeniably present. A scent of honey mixed with bad rains. You sniff hard wanting the mirage to be real. The tiny song persists. You are diverted momentarily as a window of opportunity beckons to buoyancy. Yo ho, yo ho, yo ho. Sixteen delights on a goner’s mind, yo ho ho and a spoonful of sweets. You turn slightly to see it was the torrent you mistook for another day. Manufacturing meaning descended you into madness, when gaiety could just as easily be had. It is hard to turn rusty machinery against the tide. The force is confusing and you go with the most prevalent flow.
A slight siren temps you to the horizon where particulars negotiate a new ending. Resilience is feasible, survival more than getting by without drowning. The table is set for another dinner. A feast without strings. You held fast and now you can walk on land as strait as a Plain Indian’s arrow. Dash the poor return. Pick up where you left off before the waters darkened. Cirrus clouds now with no forecast in sight. Make it up as you go along. If the winds are unpredictable why not encourage movement and not disaster? Draw it in like a breath of fresh air instead of a noxious fume. Where we stand can always be circumnavigated. Yes it can.