The Last Rose of Summer

It's September 22, the sunflowers are fading and I see the last Rose of Summer.  It's on Aunt Adeline's bush. Dead long these 28 years,  her rose bush is still here.  It's orange...the same color as the sunrise forming in the East as I look out my bedroom window right now.   Sweet Pea is still here beside me hindering my typing somewhat. Nuzzling my wrist, wanting attention. 

Trump is still in office, the summer was a nightmare from a caregiving standpoint, and I've so far managed to avoid a nervous breakdown, but have come close a few times.  Stress does that.

But it's Saturday, and maybe I can score a little downtime.  Never further away than a holler from the other room, but downtime.  Much of my life has been lost to Twitter.   Trying to keep up with the carnival of smoke and mirrors and "look over here's" and the daily drumbeat of lies, perversions, and BS that has defined the current Presidency.   Perhaps the Jewish folks have it right with Shabbat.  A day to unplug.   I've been listening to Rabbi David Wolpe's sermons quite regularly and feel a kinship to his way of thinking.  He is a great Rabbi.  A Great teacher. 

Oh the clouds have spoiled the sunrise.  No more Adeline's rose colored sky.  Dreariness has replaced the hope for the day with  muddy grayish blue skies.

Well, here it is. A post.  Hopefully more posts to follow as I really missed this space.