One small step and one giant leap I am
yet to make, and given a year – one hopes
when so many seem to be stumbling down
dead, silly old fools – there are plenty of days
for anticipation and practice. Arrived at the
precipice of Fifty and hanging on for life [how
mock morbidity is an art-form for deflection and
deferring], looking down is, I would guess, the
wrong way to be viewing things. Here I am
three hundred and sixty four days away from
twenty one thousand five hundred and fifty –
I have added the fractions and rounded up, all
time being precious – and at the very least such
sums reflect a creative mind secure if shifty.
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