I forget where I’m going sometimes because I’ve been in such a hurry all my life I’ve never  been able to arrive anywhere. I forget the real meaning of life because it has rushed by in a blur – oh horsefeathers, the meaning isn’t rushing by, I am.  If I wasn’t rushing, would I know the meaning of life?  I remember writing on the beach and while my fingers were busy rushing, my eyes saw a seagull flying high above with a clam in its mouth. The  seagull dropped the clam on the rocks below, squawking its shrill triumph to the crows, who were playing in the shallows, ruffling water through their feathers and dancing in the cold winter air. I forget where I was going with this, but I think I saw a piece of meaning – death for the clam, victory for the gull, exhilaration for the crows. If I hadn’t slowed down to watch those birds (and let’s not forget the clam), their world of meaning would have passed me by too, never to be remembered.