To reconstruct this
desk, we'll have to go back seven years, three months, and some days.We won't bother ourselves with just how many.For our purposes this will all happen now, of
necessity, in the margins of your day, with its unique light striking
the page. An aside of some relevance:A while back an elderly-care nurse, who also
happens to be a friend, related a small, but poignant incident.A cantankerous invalid had summoned her to wheel him about
the facility's courtyard. Several minutes into the stroll, he
ordered her to roll him off the path.Though confused, she obeyed, then watched in astonishment as
the man extended a quivering hand toward a mulberry leaf.She didn't know why at first, but then she saw
it--an insect both brilliant and strange.By her account, the geezer then scrunched up his eyes, scrubbed
them with his knuckles, and cried, "Never in all my eighty-six....God made a new bug!"Senile?Maybe.But there was something more troubling him--something
deeper.For perhaps the first
time in his life, he seemed stricken by the fact that he'd no doubt
fall of the face of the earth never having witnessed entire worlds
of elusive beauty. Yes, the time for us will
always be now.That said, no
use blessing the food cold.You
may now nibble these leaves like the caterpillars do.As you're feeding on me, my only hope is that you blossom into
something more stunning than a bookworm; otherwise, who would roll
off their path to greet you?