I don’t really know, do I?

Can you cheer an ostrich austere? Dare I try without favor or fear?
Porridger’s Almanack (Breakfast of Ganglions)

Nothing is a greater stranger to my breast, or a sin that my soul more abhors, than that black and detestable one, ingratitude.

— Geo. Washington, 29 May 1754

A year-ish ago, on what I believe will pass for a whim, I composed a series of random sentences, or a series of sentences which I designed to impress as passably random. I did this not especially intending that aught should come of it, and nothing may yet. I shared it then on Facebook (arguably an instance of Vaguebooking) As nothing posted to Facebook ever goes away, it resurfaced in my feed as a memory, and I thought, well, why not? If I consider it the first chapter of something, shall I see if I want to continue accruing chapters? At the end, I may just find that it’s all rubbish, or mayhap I may be fortunate enough to find that it’s a shade or two better than rubbish. I’m not promising anything, but at present, anyway, there are now four chapters. If/when it gets as far as 25 chapters, I’ll take stock of it then. On the chance that I achieve an end result satisfactory to me, I have christened the endeavor Select intrusions of the Then Upon the Now.

Something else which resurfaced as a memory on FB was a set of photos I took from what was then my workplace, which I shared as Boston Harbor, August Haze Effect. Well, flutist Delores August suggested that a piece of music needed that for a title. So ... last night, I began composing August Haze for flute unaccompanied.