Donald P. Goodman IIIVersion 1.0,
Does bird puff out his feathers as the winter nears because he knows the cold is on its frigid way? Does bloom drop down its petals when a frost it fears, or merely when its soul declares that it's the day? No creature sees the future or controls its ends, but struggles for mere glimpses into what might be; the specter looming past the now o'er present bends, no less a terror for invisibility. E'en in the present sunlight, much unknown doth lay, much that we cannot know behind what we can see; no matter how our plans and wishes go or stay, uncertainty is e'er the order of the day.