- Francois de La Rochefoucauld
It’s funny how some summers feel so much hotter than others. Particularly this summer, we had some really hot days. I wonder if it’s only my imagination, although beads of perspiration continue to form on my brow. I keep wondering if I am experiencing a kind of postpartum vasomotor disturbance, from my distress of watching the daily newscasts, or trying to fly past distasteful Facebook posts, and seeing all the insanity that seems to surround me.
Maybe it’s simply hot-flashes, though I thought I had grown past that experience a few years ago. It might be the strain of watching the politicians gear up for what has already become a nasty battle, shoveling words like dirt. Yet, I’ll vote again,,, and again...
Or maybe it just feel hotter because I’m feeling a little guilty for just sitting here sipping tea, while committees I recently left still need help, while our economy is still tensely unstable, and hatred and racism is still flaring up all around me. Guilty, because for me at the moment... it feels like just another ordinary day. I really don’t know.
From The In The Company of Poets Magazine Archives
- Bobbie Saunders