Comes August now, the month of vacancy, idleness, the slap and hiss of waves on sand, furtive romance on the dunes, perhaps, sweet corn, country roads, and county fairs, and more furtive romance, perhaps, on a blanket in the high meadow under a blood moon — and respite from the hellish host of foolish ideas, dark trends, and bad faith driving life in this demolition derby of a nation.

If one word defines the preoccupying affairs of the USA these days it’s tiresome. The entire population seems to be enacting the old myth of Sisyphus, every, man, woman, child, swamp-creature, and non-binary child-of-God in the land, legal and undocumented, pushing that boulder uphill to the tippy top, only to have it roll back down to the bottom… repeat ad infinitum.