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In this town we call home
Everyone hail to the pumpkin song


I have been jogged into thinky-ness this morning.

Two alternate tracks of fear and hope, and how the two of them so often move together like wolves in a pack.

I think sometimes they hunt together as well. Carnivores of the soul.

There is a precarious state of being where he two of them live in balance: hope on one side, fear on the other. We stand in the middle, paralyzed, unable to move toward hope because of the fear that it could be merely an illusion, or that it may be real but different than what we imagine in the fog of hope.



One cannot upset the balance without either destroying the hope or the fear.

Usually it's both.

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