I’ve gotten old enough to live in a world I no longer completely understand. Change once seemed good. Now it’s just mystifying, slightly alarming. What felt like progress in the 50s and 60s now feels like a juggernaut on the verge of spinning wildly out of control. I feel a doom coalescing like mist in the night, a worry condensing into the certainly that we are no longer masters of our creations. Maybe it’s always like this when you get older and the shadows lengthen, and the rising sun is now a setting sun, and there’s a bad moon rising.