struts and frets his hour upon the stage

I sink into the chair at my desk in the office, a long slow sigh escapes my lips…

“What a day,” I murmur to myself.

“What a week.” my beloved smilingly corrects me, and bathes me in her eyes of cruleus blue as she walks through the office and into the Living Room.

Too true… it has been quite a week/month/year; all full of sounds, furies, and the rest.

Even so, things have hardly begun to accelerate. Verily, I am but upon the outer lip of the maelstrom, whose distant winds now only tousle my hair.

I have spoken with numerous varied local dignitaries and sat upon the cushioned chairs within corridors of power; I have traded soil with the landed gentry of the fourth estate, and found my seeds strewn more haphazardly than they were sown; I have walked without fear before the predatory, pouring the Abyssinian depths of my eyes into the venal transoms of villains; I have washed in the rapturous laughter of hardscrabble children and relieved yearning of sore-handed and sad-eyed mothers.

Weighting. Burdens of many tasks and obligations to be met, impending deadlines and pressures of expectation. Many eyes follow my comings and going, many voices whisper along the lanes. Words like violence, break the silence; come crashing in, into my little world.

All of it, wearing heavy upon my shoulders. I sleep little, I eat less. My legs bounce ceaselessly, my fingers are restless. My dark mane undulates outward in mad whorls and gnarls, my hairy cheeks want for the smooth clarity of a razor`s edge.

I am tired, and I thirst.

Time, is short.

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