Too damned much politics is abroad in this beautiful land. The sky isn’t falling; the rain is falling. The wind is blowing cold, but it’s blowing good to somebody, maybe in Kansas. A fellow with a farm down the road lost his wife to cancer a while back, and now has cast a kind eye on a lady he met at the store.They went away for her birthday.
I’m about to broadcast spinach seeds for an early spring crop. The tide still ebbs and flows. Friends agree to slap back at any racial, sexual, or other insult. They refuse to accept this Trump business as a new normal.
And cold as the wind on my face may be today, it’s this storm, not us,
that’s bound to blow away.