This year is closing in on the next year. Days are shorter, most of the birds have gone on to their un-travel-restricted vacation homes. The squirrels are busy as heck, running around and packing the last few calories on before they start taking their intermittent breaks, the little siestas. Hard done by, lawnmowers are silent. Each breeze has hardened itself a bit, chills what it kisses or bruises what it punches. Everything is wrapping up, maybe with a bright little bow of expectation for a time that is assumed to return, maybe in plain brown. Maybe a hinted possibility of returning spring sifts into your memory, triggered by the last leaf from the year of 2020 drifting down. In the mean-time, this next shift must start. Having ground down to temporary halt, routine will hesitate for a while. Dressed for work in washed out non-colour grey/white and utter darkness, the quiet of an earth gone silent a spell is ready to begin it’s task.
It is at this point, we can let go. Approaching winter reminds that what can be done has been done, we are prepared or not. Nature will proceed in it’s own way, no sense belabouring anything more. It is now that a brief light of celebration will glow in the hearts of us – pagan or otherwise. Relax, what is, is. Perhaps best of all, this year is a turn of government down south. I am so ready, the rest of the world is so ready. Going to be a different sort of year coming up. One way or another, Trump will be fading out of the news cycle soon. I am grateful for that. He already has lost part of the front page to the other things and people that have been happening all along. There is, indeed, something beyond a narcissitic, pathetic small boy and his antics, tantrums, ruses.
It still astounds me that folks will follow Donny and others of his ilk, when they so obviously are the worst possible choices as leader. I think of the arrogance of Moamar Qaddafy, the tyranny of Saddam Hussein, the unstable treachery and ruthlessness of Josef Stalin. None of that seems to be remembered long. After the perpetrators of evil are gone on to their inevitable rewards, a time comes that folks forget. It is as though the comfortable fat summer of any new tyrant’s illusory success lulls a tiny mind to complacence. Memory dims or doubts itself. Then, as ever, in a final gasp of glory, the Emperor parades in his new clothes one fine autumn day. In the current case of the United States of America, half the people see nothing of substance and have prepared for coming winter, half the people celebrate. Did Trump win a new suit of clothes or is he parading naked?
Hm. We are about to see a proof of what is, a change is beginning. There is nothing more to be worried over. Winter has settled. All that can be done is done. History shows that the Emperor’s clothing is in the eye of the beholder and that half of the beholders are going to be proven wrong. Half the beholders/witnesses are warmly dressed, half believe themselves to be but are not. Some will get chilly. The birds are gone, the squirrels busy, the grey/white and darkness is upon us. Chillax, if we freeze to death, nothing can be done anyway. Hm. Maybe, I should turn up my cheap-skate thermostat?
Robert On The Air 