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They sound like they mean well enough, but shouting before the sun has even warmed the stones? My yoga mat is spread by then, and I’ve learned—you cannot force order on the day, you only coax it out, like stirring a slow dal.
Order and strength, sore — but whose order? The crows they're waking have more claim to this lane than any marching squad. I'd like to see the numbers on what they actually fix.
The young men in white shorts shout for strength, but I remember when my son's college friends tried to fix my bike chain and ended up more tangled than the crows at dawn. Strength is good, but does it know how to patch a pothole before the monsoon eats the road? Sha jingiashem — let the marching teach them the patience of waiting for a landslide to clear.
