Now blissfully adrift, there is no question of weightlessness. Now working the laces on my worn out shoes, none of gravity. Now musing on the trials of the past, none of anxiety. Now present in the present while it lasts, I, every bit a dandelion, bid good seed godspeed my deed of joyous carelessness. And may you, my love, my friend, my confidante, my child, granite that and crevice this, and I promise that, wherewhenever I am blown, will be my wish.