Dauntless minds v. Fortune's yoke

Friday, oh Friday, and what to do. The fog of earlier rolling in and out in deep whites and blues have left the day for a night of neon yellows and dark black. The car lights move along the highway and the reflections shimmer in the harbour below. Yet the hour that often holds such inspiration, inspires not.

A strange melancholy, then. The growing recognition of the past catching up. The Camino already walked and countries long pursued already backpacked, and yet the search continues. Wherefore? There is, at least, a strange Fu Manchu mask that stares back out from the window, a questioning/smirking reflection. There is, at least, the 4-faced Buddha and hand along the steel edge of the pane. Reminders.

KING LEWIS XI
Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this deep despair?

QUEEN MARGARET
From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears
And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares.

KING LEWIS XI
Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself,
And sit thee by our side:
Yield not thy neck
To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind
Still ride in triumph over all mischance.
Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief;
It shall be eased, if France can yield relief.

Not such deep despair, exactly. But a nostlagic, creeping lament. That the brief time must yield to work as well as fun. And you cannot fly off whene'er you wish.

Alas. And yet, no doubt time's wheel will pull you back out onto the right side of things, and soon. Already looking forward to it.