If you can look into the seeds of time, and say which grain will grow and which will not, speak then unto me.
I won’t bore you with the brain somersaults that led me to these musings, but I’ve been thinking about fate and self-determination and ruts and the idea that you reach an age when possibilities and potential have, supposedly, ended.
It’s only my opinion of course, still I have to think that those who delight in gossip and drama, and focus on what the world does to them, don’t spend any time looking down that road to what “could be”. If we’re each writing our own story it is surely more beneficial to move forward. Where we are is not where we could be.
Whereof what’s past is prologue; what to come,
In yours and my discharge.