Chaos, man.
The thoughts as I drove alone down the pitch black of Route 29 south jumbled, buzzed like bees, swirling in a rising buzz if I leave a hive uncapped too long.
The stereo spit a Dream Theater song, as disjointed, majestic, and urgent as the ideas seemed.
This one. (What a masterpiece.)
Looking up at the crescent in the sky, I drove home under a Glass Moon.
Sitting down this morning, I fumbled and deleted and tried quoting the Bible and pondered over the role of the internet and culture wars and the beams in my eye…
The clouds of another lockdown loom. Have I learned anything? What can I say? What must be done? The Babylon Bee hit the nail on the head:
To Defeat New Variant, Experts Recommend Doing All The Things That Didn't Work The First Time
Pastor John, an old friend and guitar buddy, dropped a gem on me the other week.
Every day is a chance and a choice.
Had I a time machine, and could go back, what would I do differently? (I’d say “no” a lot sooner.)
Looks like I won’t need one for another crack at it. It’s a bummer, and a golden chance. What will you do differently?
But then the points blurred, sagged, groaning under assumed self-importance.
The foresters showed up. We trudged through grass and leaves and they pointed out new species of oaks in their survey. The mountain is full of sourwood. Next year the honey harvest is going to be later, and better, and include that sweet nectar.
Then the modular home building guy called about a possible build, and the perc test lady, and the neighbor. “There’s a black truck in the front field. Might want to check it out.”
The August sun, looking down from his periwinkle Adirondack chair, shook his head as I zoomed out on an ATV. “Oh hey, Chuck.” Then the survey guy called, and there’s postcards to answer and….
Thank goodness that the Chaos can snap me out of morose tranquility, and remind me that the world is happening one way or another.
Off to grab a bite, and hit some deadlines.
Ain’t it a treat to be alive?
What a world worth fighting for.
-Josh