Ink Tea Stone Leaf

I would once, just once, like to sample the news on a day when the prevailing tenor of the day’s events is not that “the world is growing more hostile to freedom, and that makes a lot of people feel better about themselves.”

I could try to wax poetic about it, but that would be self-indulgent. The only poetry in this subject is the poetry of bitter ironies and lamentations.

I should like to retreat to the past and pretend these things were not a long time coming, but I have the misfortune of knowing otherwise. There’s no going back far enough.

There is no need to go on at length about this. Each day may not in fact be worse than the one which preceded it, but what I sincerely hope is that we may reach a time when we can expect that some days may be better.