Sneaking Suspicion

Just to let you know that ninjas make it happen. Oh gosh, those silent clothes they wear, and swear to be skillful. They hike up the clouds and reverse all directions, just to stick a pin in an improbable map. Once that pin is planted, tho, you see the point of their effort. That map is Tom Cruise's nose, mostly glorious. Tom's smile is a vanquishing, with a salute to the other props kept neatly in the parlour. Where will Tom point his nose, in future days such as these? Let's try to make the summit, wherefrom much can be seen. Well, actually, the sum of our view is the tops of clouds, as sturdy as your thought. Remember your essential day, when you could stand on those clouds, even the surly tall ones, and bridge a world or two? When did that act lose its political side? We've got Everest in our hands. It purrs, so small in its geologic niftiness. Mallory and Irvine are the nicest of statues, dedicated to the preservation of the last whatever on the list. They took ninja to the laundry and bobbled the edge of crevasse with such a peer group sense of comprehension. In their deaths, well, it took time to draw us in. Now it has become national, right on those Everest slopes (Everest no longer wants sacredness in its tribe). There's a dusting of snow on our heads now, 17 feet high. The ninjas have decided to help. They've made the shadows white.