Too much time had passed in his life— and with it the fact of how truth be told, some truths are hard to tell; yet a shift in perspective via injection of distance— with said distance specifically being in the form of a vacation— often helps to regain lost clarity. For probably everyroo, it seems evident that without the intermittent pauses of stepping back from one’s day-to-day, not only might smaller dilemmas become bigger, but those less-than-ideal facts one may’ve been too close to to see (i.e., unpleasant truths, say) come sharply into focus at last. As it happened & fortuitously enough, the MC K-Roo and his longtime pal-in-pouch Platy were just in returning from an extended trip to lands far off.

And the clarity attained was earth-shattering— perceptibly so insofar as they now stood upon a newly-formed shoreline watching old pieces of broken-off earth float off & away into the sea, simultaneously knowing that towards these fragmented regions never again would they ever willingly build bridges or charter ferries, pilot planes or copters or otherwise make a point of ever visiting again. And while for this their island was a good bit smaller, for this also: their island was a good bit surer. Staring across the horizon, “What is our island but a castle the moat of which is the sea itself?” thought Platy aloud.

For Platy’s thought & for other reasons, K-Roo pictured fences. Oftentimes as made by roos, fences can seem violent and/or austere things: between posts pounded or pile-driven into the ground stretched rows of pickets or lengths of chain poised like standpoints or quarrels against everything existing opposite a defined perimeter. All of which spoke of energy expended, intention & force applied— and, often enough: with great strenuousness against something which mightn’t even be there at all. And, if unwanted presences were there? In due time these malicious presences could subvert the erector’s efforts all the same. Yet above all, perhaps: a view of life with fences forever in the foreground can alter one’s psychology profoundly, not least of all by fostering a sense of isolation, as well as that of the loneliness so often in tow.
        But the sea is of a different perimeter. To stare out at looping coils of razor wire elicits different emotions than hearing folds of lapping waves upon a continuous & rounded-rock shore. A boundary of fencing can be a defensive of a hundred arms tensed and ready to fight; the tides enveloping an island just the calm of a heartbeat perpetually. Forever it’s been the case: the sea brings a different & surer sense of security: a more primordial & so perhaps more-definitive one, as opposed to the fruits of one’s own inherently fallible labors.

A number of things and roos which needed to change or go now had. Life has a brevity.

The island they were on was a volcano. When it erupted, new bridges would be born not out of intention, but of necessity. Not of newly-manufactured materials in directions thought important, but of molten-into-solid-rock formations where the earth our mother saw fit. It was upon these bridges & in due time that The Microphone Commander Kangaroo & Platy would soon bounce, in a timescale not necessarily precisely tailored to their desires, but certainly affected by these desires of theirs all the same.