And since we have been taken further and further away, down a path of no return - that is, no turning back from a certain destiny - it is appropriate to mention at this juncture, that where I am right now, it is just past high summer, a time when the evenings are not so hot anymore, not so cool either, but charmingly, rather magically pleasant.
Nothing at all is happening in the grand mansions; there are no fancy parties, no charity events this year.
Andrew 'Twiggy' Forest the local China-money godzillionaire, is complaining that not enough is being done to advance hydrogen energy technology.
One of our friends, 'Bill Smith,' has been meandering his way through the deep South Bushland regions, near to some decent fish-able rivers, in an expensive SUV.
Nothing, really, nothing at all, is happening. The world is quite still.
In the warm air and glim light of the fireflies, many a human head has been transformed to that of a donkey...
Act II, Scene II.
...I wonder who will be able to find their way through these darkening woods, now.
One road this way, one that, a path here, a path there.
'Now the shadow lines are drawn;
'All roads uneven but they meet.
'Beware! All you who cross the shadow paths, for in the Shadow World the Shadow Lord is King,
'And fate for you, a rusting iron gate.'
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