The dark before the dawn

This sounds like a whiner, but I think there is some redeeming quality in recognizing neural pathways that get good and well-worn strolling around the frontal lobe. In the ALZ world, the difference between a pleasant evening among friends and getting stuck in a rabbit warren of knotted yarn can come down to the level of distraction in a multi-stream conversation, where ends rarely meet and ideas prop themselves up until the whole cacophony either implodes or emerges glistening with sparkle and grandeur. In the past few days, I have been treated to the verbal ripostes and pun-a-rific tom-foolery in a Harry Potter-eseque setting of somber, massive stone walls to ceilings soaring almost too distant to find in the dramatic gloom of the jesuitical edifice, holding both God and man at bay, as the novitiates and the ancients slap softly down the corridors and through curious doorways, padding into libraries of arcane import, the heads of pins softly echoing their dances, and beyond the walls, through the thick and myopic, astigmatic, panes leaving question marks and suggestions of hints and nuance, to help with the task at hand, the revelation of futures, the peril inherent in anyone's step. Today,emerging once again into the world of transaction and consumption,there is little echo left, but if one listens closely, hints and possibilities abound, engage, and softly court another love, another gloom, awaiting the confirmation of Spring.