Whistling for Moonbeams

But there is dullness, too, and gaping time. As much as there is that constant exercise in quiet and contentment, the unaccustomed mind find...

lackluster, empty, as brittle as your will, dust in my hands. I dust off my hands.

There can be method to the madness, but a choice has to be made. Neither mid-way nor half-way is a good place to be. Something either is, ...