What foretells the evening of something great? The ideas that shape our lives and our worlds, oftentimes they are merely sketched on a cocktail napkin, sometimes forgotten for a period and glimpsed again by accident. Many a hard cogitation yields very little fruit, and then some breeze happens by to whisper something new, something wonderful. How shall we prepare for the next stupendous happening? We cannot tell, none of us, what lies in the present day that will make of our tomorrows a fundamentally different way of breathing. Somewhere scattered in the cities is a tune so strange we will not recognize the notes until we become part of its playing, and the music a part of our moving. What is to come? I wonder and think that all my wondering is wrong.
Some great things do come from the patient working of many hands, much perspiration, much experimentation, and much slow evolution of thought. But these have never captured the heart as much as a lone gunman of inspired dreams. Who is he, who is to come? Perhaps you have met him (or her) absently looking into the sky, imagining things he cannot explain, pondering the nuances of an idea for which he has invested something of a lifetime. I dream of the dreamer. I believe in a future where some crouched visage turns the static thoughts of all the crowds to a light with colors they never imagined could be. Do you have dreams? Perhaps it is you. Perhaps I wait for those your dreams, that you scarcely believed ever could be, to change the world once more.
me?!