A brief, rare despatch from The Year I Miss Stuff, washing up on the shores of this blog, ready to uncork. Hello.
“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.”
-- Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God
This is one of the former. Although I think I detect the gradual shift towards the latter. Maybe it’s the change of season. The leaves have started to fall from the trees, and at the same time the tumblers slowly fall into place with an imperceptible click.
I am here, after a fashion. Just not quite as “here” as I’d like to be just yet.
It's Samuel Johnson's 307th birthday today. And so I depart again with his words:
“…one enquiry only gave occasion to another, that book referred to book, that to search was not always to find, and to find was not always to be informed; and that thus to pursue perfection, was, like the first inhabitants of Arcadia, to chase the sun, which, when they had reached the hill where he seemed to rest, was still beheld at the same distance from them.”