A great shift comes. All things are questioned. Martial law in the sounds of choppers and F-18s overhead. Is this The Great Reckoning? Or simply the systematic operation of Life on the planet? What will be … will be. Doris is long dead.
Hardly the impetus to record in words what is happening. Audio has supplanted saying. I’d rather go listen to the birds, especially the (male) red-winged blackbirds (Agelaius phoeniceus) congregating in the artificial riparian zones scattered around the golf course that sits in the middle of Golden.
Cycling twice a day, legs getting a workout, arms not, swim-less, pool closed. Back at home::office, there is food to stuff the face with, no attention for tasting. Nights that are full with shades of wakefulness. Remote connection, once my creative tool of choice: now a form of labor. Remote-ness becomes the societal norm.
About to depart to the West. Will I find vigilantes controlling the way?