Convex mirror

Perhaps my life has never been what it once was, but then, who can be sure? What man will know the twinkle of tomorrow's aperitif? How can we paint the sun with a single coat? Why does the sparrow debase the mourning dove? I have answers to all these questions, not that it helps.

Recognizing the inbred nobility of my countenance, the minders here treat me with a modicum of esprit. The warden and I play often at draughts, though I am nearly always the draughtier. It is a quiet life, a still life, and in that respect not without fruit and the occasional game animal.

I have had ample time for reflection, though I no longer claim to be a convex mirror.

Game animal