Anarchists scream, money and power crazed unions prance for the cameras, leaving litter and filth strewn streets and lawns, stupid children caper waiving placards prepared by parents, teachers and union thugs, fake doctors weave the crowd issuing fake "doctor's excuses" for lying teachers and public employees, "news" cameras wander sucking up the union and socialist propaganda for equally stupid viewers. And all this in America, oh, sorry, now with Obama its Amerika! It makes me crazy. I can only take wee doses before my blood pressure soars. I must retired to my studio with light music and my brushes. To ponder on this insanity is to play in the insanity.

For relief I enjoyed our most recent storms. As they moved into our area I drank in the skies, the winds and the occasional spits of rain. Heavy at times but mostly light and soaking, our rains not only quenched the thirst for our plants and soils but my soul as well. I would sit beneath my portico with my puppy listening and watching the fall, attempting to lose my self in memory of youth. Dancing in deluges in the late Kansas or Oklahoma afternoons, water above my ankles, falling so hard I couldnt see the street or cars. Soaked to the bone and loving it. My mum shouting to get in out of the rain and ignoring, playing and drinking the drops as they fell on my tongue. Boy! What memories. Later, indoors now, I kept the tv on mute so I could hear the heavy patter of the rain on my skylights. More memories. Sitting at the window, first grade, watching the rain, the sheeting of water on the panes, the blinding flashes of lightning and massive crashes of thunder in the darkened afternoon. I would secretly open the window - just a wee crack - to feel and taste the drops of rain and feel the cold winds on my face.


I have retired, reading, listening to the rain outside my window, growing heavier. I generally cannot hear the rain in my bedroom but I can sure hear it now.  Heavier, now the drum roll of hail. Wind blasting the rain against the bedroom window. I secretly crack the window just a wee bit, as I did when I was a  child, to feel the drops, to taste them and feel the wet winds on my face. When I awaken its all gone and we are once again in Paradise - San Diego, La Mesa, clouds breaking, sun coming out, chilly. Just for a time I was in the first grade again absorbing the storm, in my own world. Just for a wee time the anarchists did not exist, fools were not remembered. Ah well. Its good to cleanse one's mind even for brief moments.  David Stanley.

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