Albo P Fossa—July 29, 2018
Does he…or doesn’t he? Only his hairdresser knows for sure.
Or his lawyer…er, we won’t go there. A riddle.
Off the top of his head he spins vagaries of pride and “That is not what I meant at all.” But no matter, if the Great Unwashed (Congress) had only one life, they’d live it as a blonde. (Get it? Unwashed? Bwahahahaha…) Hairballs. While children sit in cages…
Life goes on. Santa Fe is hot and dry: exceptional drought. We saw 104° in the umbrella’s shade. Then, Monday, July 23, danged if we didn’t get 3-some inches of rain in a couple hours. (Some of it, hail, but unlike in his first year, Junior Tree didn’t become salad.) Our backyard filled to a foot deep as dribbles went on through the night. We named it Stone’s Throw Pond (and threw stones into it). By morning, gone.
A “1000-year event”, said the Santa Fe New Mexican. Online, a flood of comments muddied the main idea: water, lots, down, fast.
Whatever. Statistics. Who’s counting? City hall was flooded. Mayor Webber dutifully returned to town. He declared a disaster. He hopes there’s money in it. A mystery.
Scars remain from the rain’s excess.
Gravel and grit remain on streets, some as far up as guardrail tops. Trees, weeds, and garbage litter arroyos. Boulders—boulders!—displaced in the Santa Fe River. Excess litter fills curbsides and trash cans for pickup.
Our nearby library branch lost books to flooding. The building’s uphill from the nearest arroyo. But a low area carved into the slope on its backside, where windows reached near ground level, was ripe for water-gathering. An enigma.
Meanwhile, Trump rains terror upon the free press, “the enemy of the people”, and flushing press briefings because “people shouting questions are the worst.”
The detritus of contradictions snarls his stream of Tweets. The litter of tariffs clogs a river of trade. Boulders—boulders!—of freedom abroad lose faith while tiny hands reach out to despots. While children sit in cages…
A flood of comments: trolling rancor, speculation, questioning, and excess punctuation of question marks and exclamation points fill conversations and publications. Gravel and grit.
A pond fills deep with guff and hairballs. We throw stones.