The Hunt

There are two ways of looking at the thing: on the one hand, it is not too much to say that I am a foolish old man in pursuing this, (ah, but what joy and delight there is in the pursuit) or that I am living each day to its fullest (knowing full well that there is nothing but heartbreak at the end).

It is in this delight, perhaps tempered by the knowing how futile it all is that makes this endless march bearable. I have found myself in the grey mist of existence and forgotten that there is more than just working, TV, beer and porn. How wonderful it is to find this little flower in the muck. Finding it and enjoying it for the little time it exists. What joy in the hunt for the next one and then next?

But what else is there (eh, Didi?) than in this pursuit, this stormy track that leads up and down through new and changing landscape? The journey of self-discovery mirrored in the pursuit of someone. How well we get to know ourselves! How green and alive and full of the sounds and smells of existence does everything seem now.