Once upon a time there was a good man, who hadn’t always been good, but he’d always had some good in him, and the good seemed to grow larger as he grew older.
Every day, he’d write good things and share them with anyone who cared to read them. He wasn’t trying to change the world, he just wanted to give people hope in a time when things were changing rapidly, and not changing for the good; or so it seemed to him. He didn’t know if very many people would read what he wrote, but he hoped they would and thought maybe they’d feel better about things if they did.
One day, he realized he was spinning his wheels; not spinning his wheels like when a pickup gets stuck in the sand, but like when a race car is spinning its tires on the asphalt, and smoke is billowing into the air but… the stands are empty, so no one sees it. There’s just a lot of smoke, noise and the smell of something burning, which he thought might be the world around him. And, it surely seemed the world was on fire.
Because of that feeling, he thought maybe he wouldn’t write anymore, but then, he thought he probably wouldn’t write any less either. He believed his words meant something to somebody, even though he couldn’t be sure who. But he hoped the things he wrote and shared, might stir the winds of hope and help to blow the smoke and smell away. Maybe a gentle, cleansing rain would fall too, and the sound of it spattering on the asphalt would drown out the bad sounds and put out the fire. He hoped maybe if he kept writing good things, things would get good.
Because of that hope, he went on writing good things and hoping for the best. Writing was his job he figured, so he figured writing was what he should do if he was going to do what he should.
Until finally, he realized