My old man said that failure was THE scientific method. A couple of dogs died along the way. That was science and method. There’s no amount of preaching that can stem the tide of making a mistake. Each adjustment made is a reflexive one. Transitive movements occur less frequently. So, automatic condemnation is a learned reaction. Acceptance comes along a more natural path, like a tongue into a mouth, a piece of fruit picked from a branch and bitten into. You can say, “horseman, pass by” out of instinct. But there’s a whole framework keeping that instinct in place. Failure is an indication of attempt. A building erupts into an explosion of dust as it implodes. A patch of dirt turns into wildflowers after an incredible three months of rain. The warmth of the salt water in Florida pulls you out deeper and deeper. The discarded needle like stamens from a Calistemon tree punctuate old etchings from children now grown up in a couple of slabs of sidewalk cement, impregnating them with the color and hope that dressed the tree just days before. The stack of tread bare tires for sale admitting not economic zeal, but decay. Emblems of passage decay into noise, an endless stream of online links promoting code of conduct by people who don’t obey their own orders.
by Hank Cherry