I remember the day his steady vagueness finally became clear. It took decades for the fog's consistency to finally break through my thick stubborn bone. There was no center. I had moored myself to an empty rowboat. My captain was a decorated scarecrow. How many years had i foolishly stood at attention waiting for a returned salute. Life had afforded me several opportunities to laugh in the mirror. This chuckle rose slower than most. I imagine my station in life was ordained for a specific purpose. I was hand placed in my home for a reason. Was not life's purpose the reason's discovery.