In the dark night where my dead ancestors sing their sorrowful chorus, I put my guitar aside to think for a moment of the living and send out a prayer for their health.

And those who cling to health now, may they be restored to their full powers speedily.  And for those who won’t be restored to their full powers, may they recover enough of their powers to rejoice.

We are a carping and querulous bunch of bastards, those of us who enjoy good health we take for granted and believe, in spite of overwhelming evidence, that our run of under-appreciated good luck will continue forever.

Even the stars in the fiery blackness will blink their last one day.