It was a time of hope, the spring before inevitable failure when possibilities still existed, paths not yet chosen and solidified into fact. Dozens of them stood at the gate, lying in wait for what was to come, not knowing all that it might entail.
Some would find their way to a better place, others would end up stuck in desolate wastelands, wondering if they had made the right decision. It could have been as simple as what they'd eaten for breakfast that one time when they were eight years old. Butterfly effect and all that.
Theories are fun, but the simple reality is that we never know until we try. And though we may stumble and fall, we will get back up again and keep trying. The clever among us will try something different or at least the same thing in a different way.
Still, there's much to be said for optimism. Sometimes it's all we have. And if this isn't a comforting thought, well, this isn't a comforting world. Take what you get.
On the grass, beneath cloudless sky, maybe 10 in the morning. Still waking up, not too hot. Better than dirt in July. Hard enough to stand there, let alone run around chasing a ball.
Which raises the question of entertainment. What value we place on it. What passes for it. Who pays and why. A dream to let us escape for a moment?
And what of the entertainers? Where do they go to escape? What dreams do they dream?
That's a lot to think about while you're waiting for something to happen. Better to just stare at the grass beneath your feet, although that raises other troubling questions about life and death.
There's much to be said for optimism. If only it weren't so damn hard.
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