I almost wrote this awful sort of prose poem comparing time to milkweed floss, spinning in the winds of years passing. Sane heads prevailed.
The most significant thing that happened this week? Stung by a hornet. I've not been stung in years and years. Mister Hornet was found, under my shirt, crawling around most befuddled. He was taken most certainly into a wadded tissue, and tossed into the trashbin. I got stung 1ce in the upper right arm. It hurt for days and days.
The summer is over, alas. Next week is Labor Day. 'Tseems we should start singing the Internationale or something like that. But then again, we can also listen to Billy Bragg's version of the same with his bit of humor and irreverent wit. 3 day weekend, next week. Can I stand the excitement?
Pro'ly not. I'll implode, squishily.