No more May, day

We are in the afternoon of the last day of May for this year. A summer weather pattern, with scattered popcorn thunder showers and isolated storms, continues. We’ve received no rain to speak of, then again, we’ve experienced no severe weather, yet.

summer stormclouds

Photo by J. Harrington

I’m finding it difficult to concentrate with the House vote on the debt limit still pending. Both the President and the House Speaker claim to be confident of passage. That leaves me in a “what could possibly go wrong?” mode / mood.

Although there’s still about three weeks until Summer Solstice, we can confirm that, once again, Minnesota has produced a crappy spring, the best part of which was its brevity. The extended forecast is dominated by temperatures in the upper 80’s. In my book, spring temperatures are under 80. The June outlook is for above normal temperatures and equal chances for above or below normal precipitation. The issue of the Nature Conservancy magazine that arrived yesterday notes that “Minnesota is one of the fastest warming states—“ although, as far as I know, everyone can still get homeowners insurance, unlike California. Meanwhile, Congress does battle over the debt limit and plays other political games. We need to find a way to take politics out of politics. Perhaps a constitutional amendment requiring potential candidates to have an IQ that exceeds shirt sleeve length or chest size?

I don’t think it’s the hots and homidities that’s got me grumpier than usual. More likely I’m fed up with paying taxes that pay the salaries of those who, on their best day, with both hands, couldn't find their what’sis.

Tomorrow is the beginning of a new month. I hope to begin it with a new, more positive attitude, at least until I’ve read the morning paper.

The Start 

Matt Mason

It probably started
in a whisper, a murmur,
a low tone hardly caught by the papers,
a sticker, a poster,
a brick wall with slogans in fresh, black paint
because
it probably started with a shove,
some bluster, a gunshot,
crushed fingers, it probably started
with a speech that caught the right ears
on an otherwise happy day,
yellow flowers in a wooden stand on the sidewalk,
red apples, radio
trying hard to smooth out the mood,
kid hurrying past, thinking,
God, he’s shouting
about me,
pulls his hat low,
it probably started
with another man
drunk on swagger,
it probably started
with a small crowd
coaxing exciting lies,
it probably started
with a neighborhood’s head bowed
as the drone grows each day
(though they’ll claim
it came
in a quick, monstrous surprise).

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