Sunrise, 7:35 AM this morning from backporch of the house we rent for this week
Been using ancient technologies of ink and paper while L paints on our hikes, working on language to paraphrase once fucking again how crackers will never uncracker and christers never unchrist and people, smart people, still don't comprehend the danger they and their loved ones are in (much less understand that it's too fucking late anyway)
One sentence I wrote yesterday in tablet echoed in this article I see this morning, will *any* GOP candidate concede defeat in the midterms two weeks from today? (103.5 FM in Washington DC the traffic/weather on the eights station, here in Michigan it's the White Christian Nationalist station, hear it when changing Bandcamp albums, between hourly National Anthems and hideous Christian rock the station hocks oz-like miracle products attuned to God's plan for your body followed by declarations that America will be a Christian nation or no nation at all.) More later in notebook, more here or not or not or more
The leaves are peaking though slightly diminished by drought, finishing up all 36 miles of the Waterloo-Pinckney Trail, when you're here, park at North Lyndon Township Park on North Territorial Road and hike north on trail toward Embury Road, the best two miles of the 29 we've hiked
Come down to us. Come down with your song,
little wren. The world is in pieces.
We must not say so. In the dark hours,
in the nearest branches, I hear you thrum—