I find it strange the changes that we undergo in growing ever older, and the speed with which necessity makes certain events and thoughts leap on ahead.
For many years I sought the well-lit cave to reach and research all that seemed so terribly important. Now it seems that venturing out is better still, for in the walking on the earth some ground instills itself within the tread and treading. Quicker then, and bifoculared to spot what is abrew or simmering gently threatening to boil. Old Faithful is but journey’s end; the babbling brooks and water spouts can lead us there.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology