Definitely not. There are – literally – robots on the streets where I am today. There were cows on the streets where I was a year ago.
I don’t find picturing the future to be a productive endeavor. A year from now the robot wave will have hit Bangalore and cattle in the streets may be a fixture of Atlanta (because raising one’s own cow will be the only way to afford beef.) [Not to mention, there’s a significant chance that I’ll be in neither of those places.]
Today is the first day of the rest of this week.
cave hermit
can’t see farmers in fields, just
brown to green to tan.
late afternoon sun
penetrates the pavilion —-
causing napper’s turn.
through the Autumn,
one tree holds leaves longer,
then drops them faster.
I assume just a little more of all the things I already do, with a substantial amount of that time being spent in rest.
The thought, “If I didn’t have to rest I could do so much more” is one of modern life’s most cancerous modes of thinking.
Didn’t we all learn during the pandemic that when commutes and other travel / in-person time obligations go away, life fluidly swells to fill the void. Like having to learn Zoom, etc.
Life gives no free lunches, learn to live with it.
Do you need time?
I suppose I do. Without it, instead of life being one thing after the other, it would be everything all at once. The latter seems chaotic. But maybe one could get used to being timeless. I have no basis for comparison. I’ve always been just in time. Come to think of it, it would be nice not to have to conjugate verbs.
What are you doing this evening?
Who can know such things? I’m not a fortuneteller. But as I just came off a travel cycle, a betting person would put his money on something sleep related.
My ideal week would consist of seven days, each day of about twenty-four hours. You could fit four of them in a month with room to spare.
When all is quiet and harmonious, and one anticipates good things are to come.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 