The Apostrophe Blog
The days grow shorter. The brutal heat comes and goes and comes right back again it seems. The backyard habitat plants that are used to their cool, their shadows and shade, now scald and shrivel and brown. The birds and the bees are gluttons for the many water options we have scattered about. We near the end of August and the state of this union on this precarious planet feels more uncertain, more fraught than ever before it seems. I do not think I am being hyperbolic when National Guard are on the streets of the capital city with nothing to do but, earlier today, pick up trash.
We have idiots and morons in charge, sycophants circling their wagons so they can bob their bobble-heads in a forever assent to their addled wannabe-dictator-in-chief. The flaws, the fault lines, the systemic weakness in so much we took for granted and thought would hold? Those feel like old-fashioned almost outdated and utterly naive assumptions right about now. I have to confess: I am not optimistic. But I am continuing to seek beauty in the moments, in the interstices that remain authentic, honest and true.
The bee crawling the edge of the new hanging birdbath, seeking a necessary drink. The chitter-chatter of dozens of visiting birds throughout the day finding seeds and bugs as they offer their songs to hold me in the moment, to lift me up, to cheer. Even the crazy racoon, two days in a row, straddling the top of the fence, peering into the open window, staring me down has been a reminder that we are still here, holding on, living our wondrous and so often lovely daily life in all this midst of nonsense and rot. Where the flowers continue to bloom, to catch my eye and enchant. Where just the most arresting color of pink rises up, surprise, to stop me in my tracks on the way to Italian tutoring class last eve. Hollyhock petals on a listing vertical stalk. And so I take out the gadget that is also a camera. And snap snap snap. And proceed to begin speaking in the language of Dante with two other fellow human beings who are trying, like we all are of late, to just get through this avoidable tragedy somewhat unscathed.
Interests: Reading, writing, not arithmetic. The art and craft of poetry. Photography. Vegetable and flower gardening especially heirloom bulbs and dahlias. Movies in real theatres. Theatre on real stages. Art in real galleries. Crossword puzzles and, of course, Wordle. Singer-songwriters like Aimee Mann and Patti Griffin. All kinds of music especially 1930s jazz. Venice, Italy! The Dude abides.
- The Summer of Our Discontent - August 27, 2025
- Poem-a-Day Publication at Second Coming - August 22, 2025
- The Running List… - August 21, 2025
