In which Piers Thinks about Making Good Choices

Every day, no matter the season, there are the usual things to attend:  the slow decay of the house, arrested by fitful and makeshift degrees; the creeping and exponential entropy in the garage; the swarming clouds of little boy passions; the lockstep march of the school year on its way to semester grades; the minor insurrections among the various small, furry, and stinky creatures in the house; the drifts of papers with crayon, pencil, ink, marker, glue, and toner; the electronic alerts blurting in the background of every almost-quiet moment; the foggy outside, where there is time enough for decisions and revisions; the mostly inaudible sigh of the days as they fall one by one on our shoulders.