Until the Thought of Thinking is Unthinkable

A boatful of feathers fell from the sky onto the top of the shamble leg man’s head. Stranger things had happened, but strange being what strange is, this was strange indeed. ‘Who would have thought’ thought the shamble leg man, ‘a boatful of feathers falling from such a bountiful blue, blue sky…and onto my head of all things’. Such was how the day began, a bountiful blue sky, a boatful of feathers and a bowlegged man shambling across the sideway sideways, his head festooned with fallen feathers. This was not uncommon, feathers falling from boats, so the shamble leg man thought nothing of it. True, he gave it some thought, a wee smidgen of thought, but just a wee smidgen, nothing more. He had more pressing things to think about, things that required his full attention, like where to place his next footstep or how far it was from one side of the street to the other. He thought and thought, thinking so hard that his face reddened and his eyes turned in on themselves. He thought until the thought of thinking any further was unthinkable, then thought a wee smidgen more and left it at that.