Weary, worried, and weak, I wonder about the world.  With tired feet and joints that don’t want to roll so smoothly, with the dull hush of soft pain I ponder about art and culture. With numb fingertips and a hurried demeanor, I promote fantasies of better living.

It’s easy to sit down and forget about labor of the day, to ease into a hot shower and wash away to tightened muscles, to stretch out the swollen muscles, to erase the memory of ache.  The wandering daydreams of fictitious  harmony will return tomorrow with the soft melody of work.