The Wind Always Brings Us Back To

Sheep Are Not The Docile, Pleasant Creatures Of The Pastoral Idyll. Any Countryman Will Tell You That. They Are Sly, Occasionally Vicious, Pathologically Stupid. The Lenient Shepherd May Find His Flock Unruly, Definant. I Cannot Afford To Be Lenient.

We Came In The Wind Of The Carnival. A Wind Of Change, Or Promises. The Merry Wind, The Magical Wind, Making March Hares Of Everyone, Tumbling Blossoms And Coat-tails And Hats; Rushing Towards Summer In A Frenzy Of Exuberance.

I Can Write Absolutely Anywhere. All I Need Is A Laptop.

Everything Comes Home, My Mother Used To Say; Every Word Spoken, Every Shadow Cast, Every Footprint In The Sand. It Can't Be Helped; It's Part Of What Makes Us Who We Are.

Remember, It's The Winners Write The History Books, And The Losers Get The Leavings.