I very much doubt that her erstwhile corporal host knows it, and I also doubt that anyone in the host’s orbit knows it either. I strongly suspect that the truth of the matter lies in a place rarely visited by the common tread of human perception, and that she will go through life sadly unaware of a rare virtue.
But enough of the Lady B, for now at least. It isn’t my place to acquaint her with her special quality, especially since I promised ‘no more words from me.’ I’m also aware that I must seem a fool to most disinterested readers, and there are only so many times I want to be so regarded in one week. And I might be wrong anyway.
* * *
To other matters:
Vis-à-vis the previous post about Will’s ramblings on yesterdays. I now remember what he said about tomorrows:
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time;
It makes you wonder whether tomorrows are worth having, doesn’t it? Admittedly, Macbeth was in a bit of a fix at the time, what with having no friends to speak of and Birnam Wood marching up the hill to snuff him out, but it still encourages a simple muse:
When you’re young you take tomorrow for granted and welcome it unthinkingly, but you get to a point in life when you start wondering how many you’ve got left and whether they’re worth the bother.