We yaw through life, up and down, side to side, fast and slow. We move from certainty to uncertainity, and then back, if we are lucky. Vicissitudes are our river on which we flow, sometimes when the water's low, sometime when it is high. This sinuous journey is fraught with both accomplishments and heartaches, and we never know for sure which one is next. Would that there were more picnics, insouciance with lots of homemade ice cream to savor after eating lots of hot dogs with mustard and relish. But we do not make up the menus of life;  for the most part, we don't even have a chance to order from one. Ours is serendepity, fortuitous, occasionally most satisfying. There is always night and day, darkness with coruscating stars, a bright sky in the morning with a yellow sun. But the interstices of living are filled with both benevolent breezes and heavy rains of sorrows of sadness. This is our jouney, now peripatetic and wondrous, then stagnant and silent. We yaw through life and do this best we can do.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks