One of the things that drives this blog and informs its content is that I have a sense of being on the downward part of the hill.
The hill in question being the one they say you’re over when you’re past your prime. Mind you, I’m not far over it, but the path definitely leads downwards these days. As a great poem puts it in another context, “But at my back I always hear, Time’s winged chariot hurrying near.“
[That poem, by the way, is a hoot. It’s about an 17th century guy giving his gal the old line: ‘Time is short, let’s get it on, baby!’ And you gotta love a poem with the couplet, “The grave’s a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.“]
You never know what will bubble up when you poke around the interweb. I was browsing about, a bit blurry after couch snoozing all morning, and stumbled on a writing contest that tickled my fancy.
Logos con carne 