The Rest

I’m writing this on Sunday night as the clock tells me it’s close to 11:00 p.m. I have a good reason for writing it Sunday, instead of early Monday. I will be up early again on Monday; there’s no question. But I won’t necessarily be in the mood to write. I’ll be in the mood for something else, but again I will be constrained by a thousand harnesses from hitting the road and finding what’s “out there” for me to explore. What might I miss by not hitting the road? A desolate desert landscape, miles from nowhere; row upon row upon row of fertile farmland, waiting for Spring; a thousand miles of barren highway, devoid of cars and cares; an empty night sky, so full of stars my eyes would be unable to see them all; a pathway to the past or the future, complete with signs only I can see; a million options, all calling to me to explore them. Who knows? I don’t. My mood will be different from the one I’m in tonight, no doubt. It always is.

Good night. To the more curious among you (whoever you might be); buy me a beer and I might explain. Or I might not. At the very least, you can share a beer with me. And I will appreciate that for the rest of time.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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