The Book From Singapore

Post arrives from far away. A gift.

182 similes printed; thumbed, skim read, an embraceable greed: desirous to learn.

One page found marked by a folded corner. Opened, this page speaks of uncertainty. Uncertainty in all things: as the base nature of things.

A tree grows, it says; and how to tell which flowers will blow away and which will bloom to fruit?

Without uncertainty, the joy is less; the petals' value fixed.

Without uncertainty, no quest: it makes a futility of any bravery test.

Much to mull over as the sleep coffee balance is recalibrated.