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Saturday, September 20, 2008


Dark Clouds on the Horizon

45 Days before November 4th * "Bigotry is the Sacred Disease" - Heraclitus 535-475 BC

Cool, misty Saturday morning. We are two days away from Fall. The seasons come and go, and I like them all. In the San Francisco Peninsula, the changes are not anticipated with dread. For the outdoor activities enthusiasts, Fall offers many pleasures. I look forward to walking and running through the woods, and gathering wild mushrooms (mostly chanterelles).

Listening to: Goldberg Variations, Johann Sebastian Bach BWV988
Glenn Gould, Piano - 1955 recording
SONY S3K87703
Do the Right Thing

This year, the presidential election is of special significance. While it would be great to see the end of the Bush Administration -- eight years of misdeeds, too many to list -- are we going to end up with the McCain-Palin team who will continue the reign of dark forces?

CBS News Voters and Bigotry
Obama is not free from warts but compared to the dark side he is preferable by far. McCain has become like a man possessed. The once principled man is a pitiful caricature of his former self. A McCain victory will put Palin a heart beat away from the presidency! Just thinking of that scenario sends shivers up my spine. Do you want Todd Palin as a decision maker behind the scene ?

End of Summer
by James Richardson (The New Yorker Sept.3,2007)

Just an uncommon lull in the traffic
so you hear some guy in an apron, sleeves rolled up,
with his brusque sweep brusque sweep of the sidewalk,
and the slap shut of a too thin rental van,
and I told him no a gust has snatched from a conversation
and brought to you, loud.

It would be so different
if any of these were missing is the feeling
you always have on the first day of autumn,
no, the first day you think of autumn, when somehow

the sun singling out high windows,
a waiter settling a billow of white cloth
with glasses and silver, and the sparrows
shattering to nowhere are the Summer
waving that here is where it turns
and will no longer be walking with you,

traveller, who now leave all of this behind,
carrying only what it has made of you.
Already the crowds seem darker and more hurried
and the slang grows stranger and stranger,
and you do not understand what you love,
yet here, rounding a corner in mild sunset,
is the world again, wide-eyed as a child
holding up a toy even you can fix.

How light your step
down the narrowing avenue to the cross streets,
October, small November, barely legible December.


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