Of crowns, cats, and commas
It’s a few days after the coronation of King Charles III, and my thoughts are filled with pageantry and ritual, acceptance and rejection, and with roles and responsibilities. Filled, also, with history unwinding over the centuries and 21st century commentary thereon. Many see in black & white, but I quite like lingering in the grey in between. Where patience and perspective reside, even while acknowledging that reason and equity and evolution knock on them with the urgency of change. As I linger in the grey, I have written “ By a whisker ”, a 100-word piece of nonsense (below) to mark the occasion of the placing of the crown on the head of a mere-mortal man whose birth landed him with a load more significant than any I would ever wish to bear. By a whisker I loved polishing the stones, rubbing against them to bring out the shine. But I don’t like to work long hours, so, over the months since September 8, 2022, I did it in bursts, as the mood struck me. Then I overheard the man s