Tranquil

Evening, again. I seem to go to bed all the time. The day begins and passes in activity, it's first when the sunset arrives that I think about time. That's why the closing of a book seems more serious than opening it. The morning is a series of possibilities while the evening is more of an evaluation, which I mostly seem to come short out of. The "result" is a mere shadow of the beginning. I guess it's a personality thing, if anyone asks, I'm fine.

Mother cow looks at her calf in the sunset, I bet she doesn't wonder what purpose  the day has been used for. If theres only a "now" and maybe a vague "earlier", I wonder if there isn't a calmness in this moment, there is for me, looking at it.

My student, Tony, who came around a couple of hours for a lesson, said he loved being here because he always learned something new and felt inspired. I guess that's a good purpose for me to go on.