Roo

It seems like only yesterday the children would run to us for sound advice. We've lost that type of spirit, apparently. Won't they ever return? Won't the sun ever shine a saturated hue of violet as it once did? Did it once? I suppose it matters none because the ostensible enjoyment of such pleasures is hosh posh nowadays. Just another blasted setback to set us back, to feed the fire of frustration that is our rocket-fuel. But fuel doesn't help much to find the fleeting. The fleeting's always masked with an affinitive camouflage... or a camouflage of our own categorizational devices. But regardless, it can be found. Hiding under the shell of a tortoise or the blink of an aged eyelid, it's up to you really.