The sun doesn't know it's a new year, though the new year is all about the sun. It's the star of the show, as it were. There are no seasons in the sun, however. There's just fusion and heat and light and gravity. It's about our relationship with the sun, not about the sun itself. It's not inherent to the sun, is what I'm trying to say. Shine on, O sun. Shine on the wicked and the good, on the wicker and the wood, on the slicker and the hood, through the gaps in the rain clouds.
We've had snow here in Texas during this holiday season. It's been a welcome climate change. Climate change won't kill us, I guess. Not all of us, anyway. It's cold here today right now, but it will be August before you know it, and we'll all curse the heat. The heat here in August will make you question the theory of a loving god, though you'll find the idea of hell more plausible. Grass withers and ice cream runs lukewarm over your fingers if you're not quick about it. I saw a hawk perched on a snow man a couple of weeks ago. I saw a coyote in a snow drift near the new subdivision, over by the schoolyard where my son goes sometimes to dance with his friends. I've seen things you wouldn't believe, but I won't tell you about them. I've told lies in my life, but I've never intentionally killed another person. Snow falls and you cannot stop it, but it will be gone in the morning.
A little revolution once in a while is good for a planet. Here we go again, round and round the sun. And there's nothing the sun can do about it.
Hello, friends. I hope you're well. Are you?
Later. Love.
