On a warm California night, I look up at the stars that reappear from the rolling clouds of violet. They continually speak to me. They watch me, wait for me, though I feel that I am not their only subject of scrutiny. Still, they whisper theories as to what I may do when the time comes.
But what time? What approaches in the coming months? In the next year, as events of the world gather furious momentum and make all who ever stop and watch think of how it all must surely end somehow, some time soon; and the clouds look for these few souls and await their response. These few look up at the sky and see its strange, observant and apprehensive character–its knowing smile, appearing mischievous in its veiled concern.
Ren Michael 