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Autumn’s chill

Autumn’s chill is in the air. Not sure how long it’ll last, but it feels good. The heat of summer drains me. The snap of the fall, along with promise of the explosion of the leaves, leaves me strangely energized. Or at least less slothful than usual.

And so it goes. Much planned today, and absolutely nothing accomplished. Life gets in the way when you wish to spend much of the day with a guitar and/or pen in your hand. Life particularly takes up more time if the guitar and/or pen aren’t paying very well. Or in my case, at all.

But that’s just routine grumpiness. I still manage to doodle daily in a handwritten journal, and try to fill in the cracks of time with assorted outlandish schemes destined to make me rich enough to live in the woods surrounded by a large moat and a stone wall.

Was thinking about the war today. Or the war’s actually. Anybody remember them? Men are still dying. It doesn’t make it less so because it’s reported on page ten and not page one. Blood is still red, flesh is still flesh, and dead is still dead. And more and more soldiers are coming home alive, but in pieces. Both physically and emotionally. And yet, it’s become so distant. Like background noise. The music they pipe into the supermarket….or the elevator.

Surely it’s not that people don’t care. It’s that people literally don’t remember. War loses it’s luster after a time….especially when there’s no defined finish line. And without the red white and blue shine (or sheen?), it begins to seem as close as a meteor.

I wish we could reach out and touch the sky. Maybe we’d allow them to come home then.

Maybe a song there.

In a bit…


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