Well, the seasons march on. Fascinatin' ta watch things unfold these days, inside and out. But, the weather's so different, it's like readin' a brand new book, or maybe I'm just payin' more attention to an old one, I used to take for granted. That happens, too, I think. Ya start ta get older and maybe ya start ta realize that things ya never thought much about are really important and they're talkin' to you!
Maybe, that's one part of what I liked so much about that piece, yesterday, about Custer; the gentle inuendo that Custer was perfectly comfortable with "his" monologue about war, but couldn't tolerate the possibility of a dialogue. To kill, or be killed does represent a certain strange simplicity; to live and love, I suppose, might require real effort and some humility, that "yes, I do need help!". And, from every quarter, within and without.
Just the other day, I was thinkin' about my mustang boys and how, seems to me, they kinda got their minds blown; pulled outta the forest, where they'd lived with their wild horse ancestors, some hundreds a years. My horse teacher used ta call it "overexposed"; too much, too quick. The forest service pens, people, yellin' and screamin', bangin' and slammin', squeeze chutes and brandin'; too much! Some years now, I've just been waitin'; lovin', brushin', feedin', playin' simple games. 'Till and unless, they consider, that was a bad dream and life could be harmonious, again, there's only so much we can share, safely.
Maybe, someday, "careful", will take on new meaning for us, like the weather; could be important and it could be talkin' to us. And, round it comes; if we aren't careful, we can dash the hope that allows us to listen; that there's anything worth listening to.
Have a great day!