Perhaps I looked to misdirection in the hour- glass, some sleight of sand, no matter the gods one chooses to believe. Smoke and mirror. Not once did I look back, not even when television crews followed like Raggedy Ann and Rather dolls, shoving forever microphones and lenses in my way. Like poor mad Van Gogh, I wanted only to unpack the starry night and work it, re-make the lie. No, I think not.
Light plays against the flow.
When we know enough to enjoy what we've had, we still search for the perfect hamburger.