Some would look at the color and shape of clouds and see either an imminent thunderstorm or a rainbow.
Some would be confronted by a closed door and imagine beyond it either the Pearly Gates or a bogeyman.
While there is no telling what a person or a situation will really turn out to be, I nevertheless wonder at what point exuberance turns into trepidation, hope into fear, and naiveté into cynicism.
Exactly when and what manner of little deaths occur to alter our perceptions or cause us to freeze in hesitation?
Should we keep ourselves from smelling the roses simply because there are thorns?