When I was very young, I concluded, all by myself, that trees made the wind blow. They could rustle their leaves to make a light breeze, or shake their limbs to stir up a great gale.
I was two or three years old, I suppose, when I noticed a fly, fairly high on my bedroom wall, that never moved. (Flies were interesting, because they seemed able to blink out of existence — flying away faster than my eyes could follow.) For days or weeks, the fly on my bedroom wall didn’t vanish, and didn’t move. Eventually I pulled up a chair or something and climbed up to get a closer look. It was a nail. My conclusion: by standing very still for a long time, a fly could turn into a nail.
As I said, I was very young. I now believe that the wind moves the trees, and not vice versa. I now believe that the nail on my bedroom wall was never a fly — that I had been mistaken when I thought it was. I now believe that a fly is a fly and a nail is a nail.
I could never be a modern politician. I’m a flip-flopper.
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