I Was Going To Write

I was going to write about sitting on the hill. About how the Live Oak spread its limbs above us and cooled our chosen picnic spot. About the century-old Texas Persimmon growing out of the limestone rock just beyond where we sat. About the dappled shade and the cool breeze.

I was going to write about how we sat there from late morning to late afternoon as the sun crept across the sky. As people came and went. As our dog got restless. As we ate the lunch and snacks and drank our drinks.

I was going to write about that perfect day and how we were so tired at the end of it, having done mostly nothing at all.

But then I hear that another District Attorney has been sacked. And I hear how, gosh, the good Secretary of State has embarked on a mission of diplomacy. And how the Vice President has discovered that our friends in Pakistan aren't doing such a great job on their frontier. And how, wouldn't you know it, 38 prisoners have disappeared from secret American prisons. And, doesn't this just take the cake, that wounded veterans at Walter Reed are being moved inside the guarded perimeter where they are no longer accessible to the press. How they've been told not to speak directly to reporters. And how they soon will be roused out of bed daily at 6am for 7am inspections, just to let them know what happens when word gets out about how well the folks at the top support the troops when they come home in pieces.

I was going to write about that other stuff, but now I just feel sick. This stuff really never ends, does it?

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