t t t t e

Tethered to this tired engine – once wound up its winding down – all these gears are tired now too, giving up their spinning round. Constant filling but never filled up, tearing down but not to rebuild: every sense of satisfaction just a flight of fancy, can’t even muster the breath to lament. Vanity, vanity says the preacher rightly, there’s nothing new under this sun.  What unhappy business God occupies us with, striving after wind but never attaining. This must teach us something, namely, only the Maker can reset His engine: we yearn for Him to make all things right.

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