THE DUST WILL WAIT

I don't even know what to say about the repairs on the asphalt.   I see them every morning on a particular street.  Early because I want to exercise before the old sol furnace kicks in.  It's been blistering hot. I wonder who is the artist that swirls the stinky hot substance into such awesome designs.  I wonder if the designs are done with intent or just with abandon.  I wonder if the person is working in a very toilsome job because being an artist just didn't provide for a home or a family. I wonder what more wise and contemplative people might say about the markings that will soon be worn away by tires and the eroding weather. The one that probably satisfies me most was from David Henry Thoreaus: "The world is but a canvas to our imagination."     

My 70's music choice in Pandora was playing in the background while I loaded the dishwasher the other day.  I think listening to music can be considered multi-tasking and I needed the company anyway. Just as Desperado  by the Eagles tugged on  my ear,  I willingly turned up the volume.  I leaned up against the sink, but when I closed my eyes they filled not so willingly with unexpected tears. That song debuted 47 years ago. I know that because I know how to count to 99 on ten fingers.   I could not stop my mind from drifting through all those years, and those thoughts kept my fingers busy.   When I entered high school the World War II hits were twenty to twenty five years old.  Twenty year old songs were longer than a lifetime of a teenager. I remember considering them ancient.  "The Charleston"  from the "Roarin' 20's" wasn't even thirty the year I was born. One random thought reminded me that that dance was closer in years to my infant days than &

As the oddest of days, weeks, and months perplex and confuse, it is calming to see an early August moon peak over the mountains. The trusty cell phone that seems my constant companion takes acceptable results and gives me the false sense that I have figured out how to take night time photos.  I haven't.  This was luck and the only one with minimal blur and that interesting reflected fence provided by the neighbors security light. Earlier that day the excitement came from finding someones parakeet feeding with sparrows.   The little buffet on the ground is provided for the quail and dove that visit our backyard at least once a day. But they have not presented any young.  I've assumed they were meals for the feral cats and several hawks that hunt relentlessly in our neighborhood. A  Cooper's Hawk grabbed a squawking young sparrow when I was standing nearby, so I know they aren't shy about my presence.   Little parakeet did not return this morning so its fate is left to th