A windmill looks like a clock, when standing still. And where Don Quixote had vision and put his sword to work, my pen has stayed silent here. Now I must account for that face of time, those years gone by...
...Never mind, the past is the past. About a half century ago, I imagined that by age 72, I'd be typing a manuscript for the Great American Novel of the 21st Century. A novel isn't going to happen, but I do have a screenplay that is being adapted to the small screen, and in a series format. At least it's underway.
The wind has picked up speed since November 8, 2016, and those blades are chopping away both historical and future dreams. Whack! Another whack! Missed...but I and my fantastic cohorts will continue doing battle. Since the great battle is about truth and interpretation in uncertain times, we shall record the present as honestly as we can, allowing pauses for occasional mystical whacking. The soul requires the challenge.
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