Cavalcade: (n) a formal procession of people walking, on horseback, or riding in vehicles.

I often rebuke my brain for always trying to turn something into a philosophical quagmire instead of just eyeballing what is set before it, and
accepting the image for just what it is.

I like parades–I do.

But for some damn reason, my brain starts thinking too much.

Am I letting the parade pass me by? Am I merely in the gallery watching the participants stream along?

First of all–I don’t like to stand for much of anything. Never have. I will always find a seat. Matter of fact, if you give me a bucket of chicken and a chair, you could march two or three parades by me.

There is a cavalcade–an ongoing flow moving down the highway. Someone is in charge of that parade. There is a person who knows where it begins and where it ends. At least I think so.

But as life streams by us, is there anybody in charge?

Does anybody really know what they’re doing?

Is there a Parade Planner?

You see? There I go again.

My brain will not leave well enough alone. Sometimes I punish my mind by watching episodes of “I Love Lucy,” which couldn’t possibly have any other meaning than foolish 1950’s television.

Other times, I just listen to the news … which seems equally as vacuous.


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