The Joy of Not Knowing

I am an expert. About what, I'd rather not say. But you can believe me. I've read books. And I've seen things. One thing I've learnt is that most things that can be seen are just repetitions of things I've already seen, or things I've already read about that other experts have seen and written about. There are millions of those instances, and billions more that go unwritten. Think of all the people who possess eyes.

But the point is, only on very occasional instances do I ever see something that is not just a repetition of something. Sometimes it is good, sometimes hideous, but mostly there's actually no qualitative difference between the two. Funnily enough, repetitions and totally new things are actually rather much of a muchness.

Today was a repetition. Yes, the earth got busy, and it took one more little day-step round the sun. In fact, I am pretty sure everything was revolving around something. Best probably not to think about that.

What I should have said, was that today was rather ordinary. Not in a bad way. Just rather like the day before, and I assume the one before that, although I'm not keeping a particular record. But I didn't see anything I haven't seen at least once. Many things, like the sunrise, the sunset, and the falling leaves, are endearing. And I have seen them a million times.

For me, today revolved around Linda, and William, our beloved cat. The basics were I had to feed Linda, and pet William. He likes to be tickled just under the chin. I didn't say feed William because Linda does all that. And on Sundays Linda likes to dine in a suitable manner. That means a hearty lunch in a friendly pub, helped along by a nice glass of something fruity, and a relaxed bit of banter about nothing in particular. You wouldn't know that unless you were me. So anyway that's what we did.

What's the problem? I can hear you wondering. You guys revolve around each other in a pretty agreeable fashion. And it is true. We do jangle together rather well. Like a pair of autumn leaves floating their way to the ground, we do somehow seem to co-ordinate.

Of course, like that very same metaphorical pair, we also differ from time to time. Sometimes we lose our way. If it's particularly windy, sometimes we can get caught up in little gusts, get swung off in random trajectories. From time to time, it happens. Today for instance, we hit just such a snag. Linda was turning right, and I left.

“What's there down that way?” I asked.

“Nothing in particular,” she replied, “What's there down that way?” she enquired.

“Nothing in particular,” I admitted. And we ended up just going straight.

As falling leaves, we're also aware (dimly so but aware nevertheless) that at some point in the foreseeable future, we're going to end up landing somewhere. We could end up soggy on the pavement, tread on by you (and your dog if like that sort of thing). Optimistically, we might hope to end up in a garden or a park, that would seem the most fitting fate. And even then it's likely we'd get stepped on, or swept up. Still, anything is possible. We could end up on your front screen. You could run over the postman. There are so many ways we could end up. We may not even land anywhere close. No possibilities should be discounted.

The problem is, I like being an expert, that's what I do best, but how can I know which possibility is more likely? In some ways, I hope we never land. There is a very small probability that that could happen, actually. If the gusts all combined to make it so, it would. Now there's a thing. Linda and I, two crusty old leaves from the same creaky old oak, just riding the winds into eternity. The forever floaters. I'd cross my crackly fingers and wish for a southerly.

Obviously, it's not likely. To be brutally honest, we're more likely to end up in a drain. Or in a sewer, washed out to sea. Knowing my luck, it would be me. She'd escape into a warm bedroom window, stencilled and then beautifully pressed in glass by some wonderfully creative child. She might even get hung on the wall. She certainly deserves it. And it would be just me who gets mistakenly chomped on by a hungry haddock.

It's actually rather funny. I'm an expert on many topics, but it's impossible to be an expert on this. I just don't know where we'll end up. We're nothing special really, just a repetition of a well worn theme. And I can't think why, but it pleases me.