Wordless but not lost for words.

Unspeaking but not speechless.

If I had to face off with a gunslinger right now under an unrelenting sun, I'd be unhesitatingly resolute.  The only question would be not whether I'd be *feeling lucky*, but whether I'd be fast enough.

But if I were fortunate instead, there'd be no gunslinger at the end step of that rendevous, but more amazingly the blossom of a possible lover.  Then the question would not be whether I'd be fast enough, but whether I'd be *feeling lucky*.  Or would it be, as Arthur asks Merlin, "How to handle a woman?"

They say that *time will tell*.  Will it really?  Or do they tell us such things to appease us until we're lying in our not-fast-enough graves?

One thing I'm certain of: I'm very sure-footed.