Sunset, someone's Time ravaged MLP remnant, & 5 Sailboats
What’s bothering me this morning, what’s stirring heart, soul, mind and strength. Little but nevertheless. How the hell did I get to be this age, I was eighteen, somebody switched numbers around on me. Eighteen. Forty. What happened? Lucifer’s work, anyone but self, someone else to blame. And how the hell did I live into the great American republic disintegrating as I watch. The view from 7H is better than the national scene.
We may go vote this morning, IDK, the small decisions of life have been taken from me, I don't decide when we go vote, I only make the big decisions, like “Who or What is God?” And the Divine Adversary, is it that member of the heavenly host who attended those two council meetings in the stage drama that gutted Job, or is it really me after all? IDK.
Wanderings of the Saturday morning mind could land me either in the briar patch or struggling to let loose of this TarBaby. I miss MLP. No I don’t.
As I sit in a MacDonald’s somewhere in Northern Virginia munching a quarter-pounder with cheese and sipping black coffee, for self alone this blogpost is brought to me by the letter S and the number 5.
Breakfast. Eggs scrambled with fontina cheese (delicate, tongue 81 can hardly discern the fontina), small square of grouper imperial. Black coffee. Ice water. FuroForty. Scrumptious.
Pics: PB407, BluePond, 7H