It has been a very dark,
grey morning. It has been a week of sorrow. Getting angry, seeking revenge, these do not make you one with the Buddha, with the Christ, with Allah. Heavy cloud cover is metaphor for everything this morning.
On Monday I'd said to someone at work that you weren't going to see the war against terrorism on TV. Yesterday, he told me, the Secretary of State, Colin Powell, said that you're not going to see the war against terrorism on TV. And I'm sure that what we don't see won't be anything to make us proud. When you are fighting dirty fighters, I suppose they will think, you fight dirty.
People ask me for an opinion about what to do. I don't know what to do. I cannot keep even my own walk swept clean.
The flag at the cemetery is at half mast again today. It blows northeast to southwest.
In the country, a mist thick enough to look like rain in the distance. Moisture beads on my windshield.
A fellow in an orange truck, in orange coveralls, sets an orange barrel away from the west shoulder of Highway E, down into the ditch there. That would suggest gravel will be packed into place soon, to complete this job. Something comes to resolution.
All the flowers at Five Corners want to close up their blossoms this morning tight like a fist.
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