Turmoil

by weirdlittlepony

Like the dove in Genesis, who though freed from her long confinement within the Ark could find no place on which to rest her feet and so returned to its endless drift upon the Floodwaters, I’ve retreated back into literary silence while waiting for the thought cascade in my brain to subside.

I don’t know if it’s a sign that I’m growing up or growing old or what, but I no longer really see the point of hashing things out in cyberspace. I feel like things have to at least be a little bit certain, if not crystallised, before I put them out there for the world to see. But who knows? With all the things that have been changing, that might change, too.

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