It is not yet blisteringly hot, just enough to make me sweat looking out of the window. My ranch on the high plains in Oregon got much more uncomfortable is July/August, the dirt in the horse exercise circle would literally catch fire at high noon. My original homeland was on the chilly side, summer just meant just a few days of very bright sunshine providing lobster red burns to any exposed skin, sun creme was ever considered somewhat Whimpy.
For some obtuse reason my system has always managed to adapt to whatever the weather gods choose to provide, whether hot, wet, mild, or freezing. Must be the Olde Norse that still courses through my veins.
Pessimism is embossed into my nature as distinctly as the gnarling about the edge of a newly minted coin. Being uncertain of outcomes shows prudence, an awareness of the vagaries of existence, and suitable modesty in the face of unwarranted esteem.
Assurance is the downfall of many a certainty, fortune in not inclined to favor the sure thing.
Well-meaning people, fraternally minded individuals, , liberals, do not deal well with extremists. They are inclined waffle, attempt to persuade, appeal to the heinous brotherhood better nature, of which they have none. For they are demons without conscience or reason, but metronomes set in motion by ancient falsehoods, buoyed by unnatural beliefs held to be more precious than their lives and any compassion.
The British destroyed such clods with the simplistic expediency of division, planting endless doubts within their dark souls about each other and the holiness of their purpose.
Much against my better judgment I am inclined to make snap decisions about any new people I meet, opinions that in hindsight balance prove invariably justified. I have no clue whence my concern stems from, call it sixth sense or vacuous pessimism, but the notion is overwhelming and unshakeable.
I keep my conclusions to myself, justifying hunches is very hard work, even if such vague impressions are wholly valid.
On two occasions recently I have been required to rescue small birds from the for them terrifying interior of my living quarters, returning them to their natural environment in the beautiful outdoors. Aa unfortunate effect of having doors wide open to facilitate airflow do tend to risk these unfortunate and somewhat disturbing incursions for my feathered friends.
The bare handed catching and releasing of my spooked visitors is easy enough, I have handled quite sufficient Aves in my time to be both efficient and confident in in abilities.
My second serious escape into the great unknown today if a saunter in the grocer market and a short sit at Roots coffee house can be considered as serious contenders for that nomenclature. Apparently affirmatively as a long-time lost acquaintance also appeared to partake in caffeine with a similar tale of several years enforced hibernation.
The casual passersby still adopt a mix of either being masked or bare faced, presumably depending on their state of health or confidence in the wellbeing of the public at large. I still carry a suitable face covering in my pocket just because I can and being safe had become second nature for us all after three years of fear driven training.
Thankfully the animosity that some felt about the use of masks seems to have largely dissipate, hopefully indicating an acceptance by vociferous nay-sayers that sensible precautionary measures do not indicate an unwarranted breakdown of the rules protecting free speech and the ability to practice independent thought and action.
What single happenstance was capable of changing a generations attitude, belief, outlook, and political aspirations? No more or less ann than the constant four years of devilish slaughter that was the Great War, proving once and for all that every human being is capable of existing quite miserably, then dying together en masse so easily, no matter their social standing or perceived significance.
For the vey first time the brutality of all out warfare was available to view by a preciously innocent general public, whom had seen glory as somehow detached from maiming injury and deadly repercussions. The vision of line upon line of volunteers being swept away by a seemingly endless hail of lead and explosions was suddenly available for every soul to witness in the flickering images instantly projected upon the local cinema screen. Was so no longer just a private matter between commanders and commanded, but was a subject of national understanding and observation, social debate and deepest, darkest grief.
As good a moment as any to discuss the convenience of loss, that inexplicable ability to misplace memories and documents relating the a less than comfortable portion of history. The rewriting of events is as old as is the existence of winners and losers, those whom prevail wanting to shape the truth to support their particular narrative, those ending on the wrong side of the finishing line aiming to conceal their less celebrious actions from posterity.
Perhaps the most heinous offenders are those who though their exalted positions are exempt from the pressures of momentary change, whom rather serve all administrations with equality, supposedly being unbiased, neutral. Such persons effectively inscribe the records, are the arbitrators of fair and even government, the steadfast roots at the very base of the luxuriant foliage of civilization.
The civil service is not necessarily abstract, like the Bene Gesserit they have a singularly personal motivation, if only the unending continuation of their influence and power.
Distance brings perspective, the ability to see the clear lines that connect events and places from the past to ongoing behaviors that mold all following happenstances quite exactly. The faults of my adolescence are quite plain to comprehend, weakness for falsehood, conniving, manipulating, a penchant for usury. I became quite the practiced buddy of each and every antisocial activity.
These skills I learned in one location; a dingy covered alleyway named Brady’s Arcade.