Fresh Pastures…

The most consistent thing in his life was new beginnings. They always happened. Indeed, one was happening as he woke to another morning.

“Variety is the spice of life,” he reassured himself.

But that would make my life one of the spiciest ever.

Okay, he hadn’t gone to the moon. He had never even gone to the States, and the chances of that happening anytime soon was disappearing. The USA now resembled something that was more alien that Mars so it was strange that their president had decided that Mars was the next world to conquer; perhaps he was planning to visit the relatives?

So, Mars was out of the question. Space travel was not that interesting anyway, once you realised that our definition of intelligent life would have to resemble us in some manner. Why travel all that way to fight someone?

Anyway, my fresh pastures are waiting.