The inevitability of trouble
But let us be done with thoughts of what may come. This life is now, and not later to be lived to the full. There are babies to be born and houses to be turned into homes. Then gardens to be planted that will cast hues of bright red, green and gold
through sparkling window panes defusing sunlight, scrawling long shadows into warmly accoutered rooms. This is the beauty and comfort of life lived and to be lived. And who is it that would not seek for refuge there?
To many a passer by, those lives of beauty and safety seem as wonders, as pictures in books, where no human handprints mark the walls, and dust settles on no windowsill. And yet, existent they are and full of all that one could dream. How so, we may wonder, have those who live in such pristine environs escaped the caprice of life? Will the whimsies of passing moments take pause to note that these have nary been touched? Will wizened fingers trace along a name sheltered under vaulted ceilings and chandeliers and call forth a dark horizon?