Treats, not tricks, on November 8?

Peak color has come, and gone, in our area. In fact, that’s true pretty much statewide. Time to adjust perspectives and get ready for Halloween / Samhain.

almost time for these folks to show up again

Photo by J. Harrington

The Celts considered the darker half of the year to begin with Samhain on November 1. It was the time of the ending and the beginning of the Wheel of the Year. If I’m feeling optimistic, November 8 will bring better days. Otherwise, it may bring a return of the dark times we suffered from 2016 through 2020.

I’ve reached my limit of the emails and snail mails screaming the world will end if I don’t send $50 or $100 or more to this or that group or candidate. What other occupation convinces people to pay for the employee’s job application? Furthermore, I resent elections being pitched as if they were wars or sports contests coming down to the end of the season and two opponents running neck and neck.

I’m going to take a moment to fantasize about two major changes I’d like to see:

1. US politics gets reshaped to bring out the best in all of US instead of what we get now, attack ads ad nauseam.
2. Change the laws so that the only legal type of corporation allowed in this country is a “B” Corp. or equivalent.

B Corp Certification is a designation that a business is meeting high standards of verified performance, accountability, and transparency on factors from employee benefits and charitable giving to supply chain practices and input materials.

I'm feeling a little lethargic today, probably as a consequence of yesterday's COVID booster, so I'm going to keep it short. With luck I'll be back to what passes for normal tomorrow.

The End and the Beginning

By Wisława Szymborska

Translated by Joanna Trzeciak

After every war

someone has to clean up.

Things won’t

straighten themselves up, after all.

Someone has to push the rubble

to the side of the road,

so the corpse-filled wagons

can pass.

Someone has to get mired

in scum and ashes,

sofa springs,

splintered glass,

and bloody rags.

Someone has to drag in a girder

to prop up a wall.

Someone has to glaze a window,

rehang a door.

Photogenic it’s not,

and takes years.

All the cameras have left

for another war.

We’ll need the bridges back,

and new railway stations.

Sleeves will go ragged

from rolling them up.

Someone, broom in hand,

still recalls the way it was.

Someone else listens

and nods with unsevered head.

But already there are those nearby

starting to mill about

who will find it dull.

From out of the bushes

sometimes someone still unearths

rusted-out arguments

and carries them to the garbage pile.

Those who knew

what was going on here

must make way for

those who know little.

And less than little.

And finally as little as nothing.

In the grass that has overgrown

causes and effects,

someone must be stretched out

blade of grass in his mouth

gazing at the clouds.

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