The Hurly-Burly

The American Venus.  An Extravaganza.  Some Hurly-Burly.  That is what I've been after. It is what I wanted to make, to capture, to put on the wall.  Along with The Champion of the World.  Been trying.  If I don't put up my images, then I have to put up someone else's.  It's all I have right now.  I've worked on nothing else.

Meanwhile. . . I wait.  It is High Summer here where it does not fade so fast.  I'll tell you, though, by the first day of autumn the shadows will begin to slant and the world will look more interesting.  The first breezes will come and we'll watch the leaves begin to stir that have been so deadly silent and still.  And the greens will start to change into something less maddening.  When the sky returns to blue. . . .  But the days are already growing shorter and darkness falls with grace at the better hour.  Some desire the longer days, but I've had too many of those already.  Daylight savings is a trick to make us work longer.  Everything is a trick to cheat us somehow while making us believe we are getting more.  I'll take less.  Less daylight, less noise.

The American Venus.  An Extravaganza.  Some Hurly-Burly.  Sometimes you get sick of ice cream, but complaining about it seems a bit like telling Ben and Jerry to start making soup instead.