Running to pick the boy up from summer gymnastics class. No time for thoughtfulness. The world is a busy place, and me keeping step with it when I can. More and more there is less and less. Or rather, oftener there is. I am lucky to read, or play music, or to listen to same. Everything is happening as it is supposed to, a thing I could never quite see before. I worry about the future here and there - it's arriving faster than expected. I brace for the changes. The tempests are made of decades.