I ask, “is there a timetable for captured knowledge to shoulder a reversible commute?” I aspire to move away from seasonal metaphor and holiday enchantment, still, descriptives are rebuilt friends and the harvest is pleasing and plentiful*. On this stroll, you can claw inside the asterisk-pulling equity from a whimsy investment-trading within a point-blank scope or beyond the gambit-and the depth of a fielded frame. Sometimes, I wonder how the sunlight feels upon facing a cloudy roadblock? For me, when a freckled suit gets torn, I almost always encounter a Sicilian defense, and its pieces are not confined to the squares or the board. How can the wind and physics coexist as one? Should not everything graduate to becoming minimalistic? If everyone was honest, only a page or a palette would have a viable option to flaunt. I am often amazed as to how a racing mind, and a racing day can allow for a still shot to name anything that brings joy or merit. There are actual, recorded citizens trademarking an insatiable landscape that inspires 10,000 written words per day. I can preface the next sentence with ‘no offense’, for my response has been and will always remain ‘none taken’-but the hardware scans-and triggers the register by certifying that each action is perpetuated-only by a mosaic approval summoning a future project with an abrupt ring and a tapping susurrant. Otherwise, compulsive cart hopping would yield a world governed by coat collars and leashes for keys. I do not pretend to know about you, but I am sure that given the opportunity, you would promote an intact imagination to a flock of loosened politicians and their auxiliary supply of graft, screaming from behind the well-fastened springs and jiggling locks that keep them callous and fat. And then, there is another scene, sunny and light. Even the air feels as if it is comfortable labelling you as an ancient master. Yet for some reason, I am flicking at my ear. Have I not trotted on from the previous boredom? I just now noticed that the interior blinds, that cover the left half of the window, appear to be moving- but only if I release their promises of privacy from the delayed analytics of my filtering brain. Could that mean that all acknowledged interpretations do not even qualify as dalliances? I can honestly say that I hope I do not live long enough to realize that there is more time left than memories to sort. Inside the gaps of the clock, my keystrokes can comfortably jog without so much as a hang nail or a flea. That is what the harrow tells itself. Even though it is just one of many productive purchases whose needs can be universally, agreed upon- by itself-the output does not make for an unadventurous or unpalatable home. Somewhere in the middle of artful description and icy truth, there is experience and law, I hope you have pointed north from your original mast, for accomplishment moves the given tool repeatedly, until the subject matter begs for an acquitted, modified cost to skew. I have little faith, so I say once more, “please tell me that you have purposefully plotted a course and solution- one that is happily married-protecting the field of view.” Still, not every pinch yields a perception that is friendly or bouffant– is not an alternative- the comedic realization of what we in return should syphon and classify as an arrowed ‘want’? Neither of us are in any position to raise the white flag or claim an objected stretch of propriety. * If not for a better process to unwind, then observation and maturity will remain unlatched—just as returning home is as simple as a preamble to persuasion -well-timed-the Alapin is more satiable than the imminence of a uniform, festive scratch.