The Winter Palace sleeps in a cold blue dawn of stillness. Oh that it could sleep forever like this, frozen in time. Hard is the soil. Still is the air Gentle the sky And when the morning breaks that it should stay undisturbed. Oh morning do not come and bring your horror. But morning broke…

If the pain is real, so is the joy,

Grief is strange, it comes at you from all angles.

It began with an act of supreme violence– a big bang expanding ever outward, cosmos born of matter and gas, matter and gas ten billion years ago. Whose idea was this? Who had the audacity for such invention? And the reason? Were we part of that plan ten billion years ago? Are we born only…

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage,And then is…

‘To thine own self be true’ Polonius, Act 1 Scene 3, Hamlet