Philosophical Philanthropy

Through the hills I went, on a small train in the middle of nowhere. I ended up here, a little village, not seldom visited but for the snow its highest peaks.The signs say welcome, where the people hold out there hands. The snow awaits fresh running and wax gliding. And thats where I will be in a few not so fresh hours. A lonely gliding, wind, cliffs, and cold air. I will enjoy this too, even when a solo shiver passes through.

One goes forth on a pilgrammage to fulfil an obligation of faith or promise. Faith can falter and promises can be obscured. To thy own self be true when either of which happen. He who goes forth does so with not brave ambition, but monotonous footsteps. Like letters, words, and prophesizing poetry, footsteps, paths, and campaigns are not foreseen, but hindsighted with alacrity.

Decide where you want to take you, and only let a tendril of fate intervene. Attitude is all. Talent a ticket. And luck, never liable, always likeable, nevermind the liasons.

Words but not wisdom, advice but not admonition.

Terry