Sunday morning reverie

The heavy fog is beginning to appear to lift ever so gradually and, of course, it's unseasonably warm; though I feel a damp chill. The drought continues. Though it is now considered significant enough to inspire dread visions of some apocalyptic and arid future world, it seems little more than a distant half-heard alarum to the local psyche -- at least so far. Obviously, all things pass.
A few finches cling like golden bugs to the slack shrouds of thistle seed bags hanging from the dead tree a little way down the slope out back. The resident pair of Carolina wrens are head-bobbing and playing their usual demented game of tag, and a paranoid squirrel is warily stealing sunflower seeds from a feeder he doesn't realize was placed there for his benefit. Finches thicken and cardinals continue to flaunt their colorful disregard for pomp and decorum. All is quiet as nourishment flourishes.
And I am worshipping Satan. That is to say, I'm reading progressive blogs.
But even the mainstream is greeting the morning with the news -- not so new -- that our country is on the rim of economic collapse.
Not to mention the moral decay gathering speed, mass and odor at a dizzying rate. Who would ever have dreamed that we'd be accused of torture or, worse yet, be guilty of it? And then, when we are exposed as torturers, we actually try to justify it, qualify it, rationalize it . . .
One can hope that we're headed for a major change.
So there's this little guy running for president. Going around flashing the peace sign and talking all kinds of pipe dreams about defending and living up to the US Constitution and redistributing wealth and preserving the environment . . . and just all kinds of impossible dreams.
Yeah, we're ready for that.