‘You write a lot about change,’ Mylo said. ‘My days are full of familiar patterns,’ Mylo continued. ‘I have a sense of place that the Old Man speaks of,’ Mylo grinned. ‘I know who needs me, and they are my purpose,’ Mylo laughed. ‘Mom needs me during the day, and I keep Dad company at night,’ Mylo mused. ‘Jonathon brings the excitement as Mom and Dad are a bit slow,’ Mylo winked.

As sure as the Sun rises, change is coming. We quiet folk see it, feel it, taste it, and hear it. You learn a lot if you listen and watch. The hollow eyes of politicians reveal much. They look at you but do not see you. They smile all the time. Beware of someone who smiles all the time. It is performance time; they are actors on stage playing the role of benevolent benefactors. Sometimes they wear the Smile Mask when their mouths hurt from the comical effort. The answer can not be found in the hollow eyes or the clownish grins. We instinctively know this but need someone to blame for our faults and shortcomings. The Politicians are our own reflection. We put them in their jobs of service, and they reward us with the agenda of the rich, the ones who hold the purse strings; the people who are paying have the power.

What passes for leaders’ leadership courage of convictions has fallen. President Lincoln, who could not sleep, was despondent and suffered due to the Civil War. President Roosevelt led the country through World War II from a wheelchair. President Trump is worried about his Ballroom.

‘I tell you change is coming, I feel it in my old bones,’ Mr. Mole said to the Old Man. ‘Humans have hurt the Earth,’ Mr Mole continued. ‘We must exercise our sense of place and ensure that the centre holds as Yeats reminded us in his poem The Second Coming,’ Mr Mole noted. ‘The Falcon is flying in a widening spiral and getting too far away from the falconer,’ Mr Mole said.

The State Fair is underway. The Governor is there as well as Senators and Representatives, servant/leaders of the people. The taffy is delicious. The lights of the Midway are uplifting. The Ferris Wheel is still scary. The Carousel is delightful. The Midway looks different in the Sunshine. It is rusty and old in the dark; with bright colored lights, it is magnificent.

The clown took a drag from his hip flask, put out his cigarette, and swore that kids would be the death of him. The Carnivale music played loud; kids laughed, parents looked for the Beer Tent.

August was a blur as it passed by. This time last month, kids were getting ready for the beginning of school; now they are in the thick of it. The DuQuoin State Fair starts tonight. This was a big deal to me as a child, although I lived 50 miles away. When you live in Southern Illinois, you take your excitement where you can get it. The Governor marches in the Opening Parade. Governors often stay in the Hayes Mansion on the Fairgrounds while the State Fair is open. Big-name performers perform at the Fair. Dolly Parton performed two sold-out performances at the DuQuoin State Fair on August 27, 1979.

The State Fair was mysterious, magical, otherworldly for me as a kid. The Fair was home to the Hambeltonian. The greatest harness race in the country. It also had The Headless Man. I saw the Headless Man on several occassions. I never saw his hidden head.

The days are getting shorter. My favorite time of year. The thought of New Orleans is competing for time in my head with visions of sugar plums. We wake to a mystery every morning. The warm glow of fall creates shadows of delight.

Time-lapse photography has captured my imagination of late. The unusual photographic product it produces fascinates me and reminds me of life.

From birth to death is a bit of a blur. Take snapshots along the way.

A worthy goal is to wear the coat of many colors that Dolly sang about.

Let us not judge the Neanderthals too quickly. Neanderthal technology achieved a degree of sophistication. It includes the Mousterian tool industry as well as the abilities to maintain and possibly

to create fire, build cave hearths, craft at least simple clothes similar to blankets and ponchos, make use of medicinal plants, treat severe injuries, store food, and use various cooking techniques such as roasting, boiling, and smoking.’

‘Dad, look at the Eiffel Tower; it looks just like the photos,’ Ned Neanderthal said gleefully. ‘When I told my teacher about our August Holiday in France, she asked me to bring her some pictures,’ Ned N continued. ‘Some of the kids thought I was kidding as they assumed we Neanderthals do not get around like they do, but I knew we would prove them wrong,’ Ned N danced and sang. ‘Soon we will swim in the Seine,’ Ned N said as he jumped into the water.

‘Well, there is no doubt the Parisians have never seen any Neanderthals,’ Nancy Neanderthal observed. ‘The Restaurant had a no Neanderthal policy but waved it when they saw what nice folks we are,’ Nancy N continued. ‘The sauces are to die for,’ Nancy N proclaimed. ‘The expression on the face of the waiter when Nathan asked for a Dirty Martini was priceless,’ Nancy N said.

‘So I thought being in Paris on Holiday would make it easier to either accept or reject the President’s offer to be his Chief of Staff, Nathan N mused as he puffed his cigar. ‘I think I must say no thank you after being in Paris and enjoying the freedom of speech, thought, and action here,’ Nathan N continued. ‘We Neanderthals have always been on the outside looking in, proving ourselves by working twice as hard, Nathan N explained. ‘If anyone believes in inclusion and acceptance, it is us,’ Nathan mused. ‘We have been misjudged and marginalized, forgotten with no voice,’ Nathan N whispered. ‘We are introverts listening and watching, understanding what is going on in the world of extroverts,’ Nathan laughed.

So here we are as August closes its doors. The DuQuoin State Fair opens Friday night and runs through Labor Day. We are heading into the BER Months. My favorite time of year. Vertigo is playing on Turner Classic Movies, followed by Rear Window. Hitchcock Movies for fall. The feel of fall is not quite with us. Too hot. That will change. It always does. The days are shorter and the nights longer. Time for reflection around the campfire. Ghost Stories, Frankenstein, Wolfman, Dracula. Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman. Getting old, feeling young. The wine of life seems sweeter each year. ‘It is the little things…kid,’ Neva J often said.

Chapters we experience. We looked to the old ones to be our mentors; now we are the old ones. We live life as if it were War and Peace when it is a short story. Diving into the plot in the first chapter. The resolution of the theme, the big ending, may be before page 100. Each of us has a certain ending that makes our moments precious. Courage is magnified by the small time we have. Looking for a City is our credo.

We introverts sit silent in the tumult. Words change things. ‘A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.’ Harsh words divide us; words of peace unite us. As children, we loved everyone we met. Color or belief, money or political affiliation meant nothing. We opened our eyes to a gift. We could play and laugh, hope and dream. What a game life was. A ride on the Carousel at the State Fair. Pretty lights. Cotton Candy. Swapping stories and wondering how we got to this place…first we were not suddenly here we are. What a hoot, what a kick, a miracle. We had no special pass, no VIP designation. Life is better than a movie at the Orpheum Theatre!

‘Some of our sheep friends look like their skin is rumpled,’ Larry Lamb said. ‘They speak louder than the rest of us and promise fantastic things if we follow them,’ Larry L continued. ‘A chicken in every pot and two cars in every garage,’ Larry L laughed. ‘The other day I saw one of the loquacious speakers take his sheep’s head off, revealing he is a wolf with a wide menacing grin,’ Larry L continued. ‘When the Wolf in sheep’s clothing saw me watching him, we winked and smiled,’ Larry L said with concern.

‘What a lovely day for a late August drive,’ Jane said with a smile. ‘We will pack a picnic lunch to eat by the cemetery after we see Grandma A’s grave,’ Jane continued. ‘We shall reflect on the sweet summer that is slipping through our fingers,’ Jane laughed. ‘We must pack Merlot and Oscar Mayer Wieners,’ Jane giggled.

‘Of course, the Merlot is essential for a late August journey to the cemetery,’ Neva J chimed in. ‘It is dusk now; soon it will be dark, a bit like Halloween,’ Neva J mentioned. ‘I will pack some candles for our Supper in the cemetery,’ Neva J winked.

‘The candlelight casts shadows on the tombstones,’ Chet noted. ‘Look, coming down the graveyard path, people wearing Halloween Costumes,’ Chet noted with some concern. ‘Well, it is President Trump and former President Biden and Kennedy with LBJ bringing up the rear of the procession,’ Chet mused. ‘Their masks are comical in their complexity,’ Chet noted.

‘I see four masked figures, but they are not four Presidents; they are mysterious,’ Billy B observed. ‘Sitting beside me is President Kennedy, who told me to beware the Russians,’ Billy B said with some trepidation.

‘I can’t remember if I cried the day I read about his widowed bride.’

‘So it is a long drive back from Mt. Vernon to Eldorado,’ Jane said. ‘I hope our headlights hold out,’ Jane continued. ‘Four people are hitchhiking, a family with car trouble,’ Jane alerted.

‘Where are we?’ Neva J asks. ‘Through the dim headlights, I see myself walking toward the cemetery holding a candle,’ Neva J whispered.

Perhaps it is the Merlot or even the Oscar Mayer Weiners, but something is strange here, and it is not exactly clear,’ Chet said with conviction. ‘Are we the ones in the mirror, or are they?’ Chet asked.

We saw Don McLean last night. MJ and I were in the front row. He wrote the song American Pie. The usher asked us not to rush the stage. Quite a concert. Being seated just a few feet from Mr. McLean was an added treat. MJ and I could understand every word. The songs harkened back to a different time. A time of limited innocence.

I can see part of a beach ball through the cedar tree. Brooks Pond has no beach. Soon, they’ll put the beach balls in storage. August is a short timer. School is back. School Buses are out. When I lived in the country, I rode the School Bus each day. It is amazing how uncomfortable the seats are. The High School Football Game on Friday Night had four people tased by the police. Not Friday Night Lights.

American Pie refers to, ‘The three men I admire the most, the Father Son and the Holy Ghost they caught the last train for the coast the day the music died.’

‘And in the streets the children screamed, the lovers cried, and the poets dreamed, but not a word was spoken. The church bells all were broken.’

The August Sun is setting. We look for our Poets. Someone to reveal wisdom. Someone who has seen much.

‘Now for ten years we’ve been on our own, And moss grows fat on a rolling stone, But that’s not how it used to be.’

So here we are with the results of being on our own. Can we scrape the moss off? Can we listen for the music? Will we seek the Poet again?

‘Did you know that when you are dead, you are dead for a long time?’ Jane said. ‘We are alive for a second on the Big Time Clock,’ Jane continued. ‘I am excited about visiting Lemp Mansion,’ Jane laughed. ‘Do you think we will see the Lemp Family Ghosts?’ Jane wondered aloud. ‘I have read that members of the family committed suicide in the Victorian structure,’ Jane said. ‘Their Brewing Company was dominant in the United States beer market before Prohibition,’ Jane informed the group. ‘They were noted for their Falstaff beer,’ Jane mentioned. ‘The Mansion is haunted by the Lemp family,’ Jane said. ‘To think we are staying overnight, what courageous folks we are,’ Jane exclaimed.

‘Well, that was a great dinner. I don’t know what the ghosts think, but I enjoyed it,’ Chet laughed and rubbed his round belly. ‘Let’s explore our rooms for the night,’ Chet offered. ‘The restrooms appear to have original fixtures and are cold,’ Chet noted. ‘I heard footsteps, but I thought we were the only people staying tonight,’ Chet wondered. ‘Could it be the Lemp Ghosts?’ Chet asked with a macabre grin.

‘I saw a woman sitting in a rocking chair. When she turned to look at me, she looked amazingly like me,’ Neva J said with some trepidation. ‘She winked and said nothing,’ Neva J said. ‘There is Merlot on the dresser and wine glasses with the Merlot decanted,’ Neva J observed. ‘Do you think the proprietors do this for all of their guests?’ Neva J asked. ‘I must admit, with a glass or two of the Merlot, I feel strangely at home,’ Neva J laughed as she poured another glass of Merlot. ‘I think I may have visited here when Bill and I came to St. Louis right after the War,’ Neva J mused. ‘You know, the more I think about it, we visited a Brewing Warehouse, and I fell and sprained my ankle,’ Neva J recalled. ‘The Brewing Warehouse was just down the block from Lemp Mansion, ‘ Neva J giggled from the Merlot. ‘Bill said he had never been so afraid and that when I fell he saw a ghost push me,’ Neva J winked.

‘I am glad you are finally out of the restroom, Chet. I saw you go in there over an hour ago,’ Billy B said. ‘You were with us talking about Neva J’s strange experience, and then you were gone to the restroom,’ Billy B continued.

‘I have never left the side of the bed and have been a part of the discussion since we came upstairs,’ Chet insisted. ‘I was afraid when I saw you leaning out of the bedroom window,’ Chet continued. ‘You looked as if you were contemplating jumping,’ Chet noted.

‘Will someone help me get the girl that looks like me out of my bed? I am sleepy,’ Jane asked. ‘We are either in a dream or this place is haunted with us,’ Jane proclaimed! Let us leave, although it is the middle of the night,’ Jane pleaded.

‘You kids go ahead; you can come back for me too much Merlot and warm covers,’ Neva J said drowsily.

‘Whew, I am happy to be out of the Lemp Mansion. There is a hitchhiker along the side of the road; should we pick her up?’ Chet asked. ‘Oh my God, it is Neva J,’ Chet said with fear!

‘Have you heard of the ghost dressed in a Bunny costume?’ Jane asked. ‘Colchester Overpass, the site of the 1970s Bunny Man,’ Jane mentioned as one she had heard. ‘The Bunny Man attacked people in the area,’ Jane continued. ‘The Mothman in Point Pleasant, West Virginia is another,’ Jane noted. ‘Two people saw a tall, grey man-sized bird with hypnotic red eyes near a WW II munitions site,’ Jane said. ‘The collapse of the Silver Bridge in 1967 was associated with the Mothman when 47 people lost their lives,’ Jane explained. ‘What about the story you tell Billy B about the ghosts of Anthony Hall?’ Jane asked.

‘Well, a Malaysian student custodial worker was assigned to clean Anthony Hall, which was the home for University Administration on SIUC’s campus,’ Billy B noted. ‘One night after she had finished her cleaning and was checking all floors to ensure the lights were out and the office doors locked, she found a woman sitting quietly with a long black skirt and white blouse, with her hair in a bun on the back of her head. When the Malaysian students spoke to her, she said nothing and looked her way,’ Billy B recounted. ‘The student was so frightened that she refused to go back to Anthony Hall. The word spread among the Malaysian community, which was the majority of Building Services’ student custodial staff, so no Malaysian student would work in Anthony Hall,’ Billy B explained. ‘Anthony Hall began as a Women’s Dormitory, and the crew leader took me into the attic to show me photos stored there of women dressed just as the Malaysian student described,’ Billy B said softly.

Perhaps we are living in an Urban Legend. Our political leaders manifest crude behaviour. The quest for gold is lifted on a high pinnacle. Morality was a prerequisite for a spot in high office until we found one who eschews such simple behaviour. The message of Christ has been co-opted to christian/nationalism. We make fun of the poor and needy. As Gordon Gecko said in the movie Wall Street, ‘Greed is Good.’ A blanket of blackness has clouded our understanding. We cower in fear of the Mothman, Bunny Man, and the Ghost of Christmas Past.

The Anthony Hall incident was real in every aspect; I did not see the Ghostly Woman. The Malaysian student was afraid. University Administration required me to write a report of the incident. News of the Lady from the days of Anthony Hall being a dormitory and a spirit from that time visiting the building in the 80s spread across Campus.

I have been in the City several times but do not remember a significant stormy night until Sunday. The thunder clapped and clapped again. Lightning moved across the sky. Rain beat against the hotel window. I realized cities get storms too. Staying on the top floor, it was exciting.

‘Is it true that creatures are coming out of the storm drains?’ Chet asked. ‘The storm has flooded the sewers, and there is no place for them to go,’ Chet continued. ‘Some are near the Arch playing badminton,’ Chet winked. ‘Some creatures are playing chess in Forest Park,’ Chet continued. ‘Still others are waiting for the Art Museum to open, Chet informed with a little dance.

‘The City is suffering under the relentless rain,’ Jane said. ‘It has rained for a month more under the City. Dwellers are about town in the coffee shops, the Theatre, shopping for Christmas,’ Jane continued. ‘They are quiet, not speaking but watching the folks of the Topsoil,’ Jane laughed. ‘They seem wise as most introverts do,’ Jane mused.

‘The kids from below are everywhere the streets playing handball, sitting on the Brownstone stoops watching and waiting,’ Billy B offered. ‘They carry themselves with maturity beyond their years,’ Billy B noted. ‘Now and again they surround a person and stare,’ Billy B said.

‘Two worlds always two worlds,’ Neva J said with feeling. ‘Our Earth has two worlds, one hidden and one revealed,’ Neva J continued. ‘The world below our feet was always there, but we cared not to pry,’ Neva J observed. ‘Thus we know nothing of the inhabitants who are obviously cultured and quiet,’ Neva J said. ‘Shadow people watching us from afar now watch us up close, studying us, perhaps our doppelgangers,’ Neva J proffered. ‘We have been busy with our acquiring of riches, power, accoutrements of success; they have been waiting and watching,’ Neva J explained.

Back from St. Louis and fun at the Museum. I purchased Head – Footer with Owl, a collectible depicting a torso-less hybrid creature wearing a turban with an owl nesting on top. ‘This surreal walking head originates from the bottom of the left-hand panel of Bosch’s The Hermit Saints Triptych.’

Being in the Art Museum and the little collectible made me think of the coming of fall. Time to consider one day at a time. What a wonderful mixed-up world we live in. Hieronymus Bosch’s Art causes me to reflect on the vagaries of life. One day angels, the next not so angelic. Then the little minions doing their bidding. At times we are the minions.

I saw a beautiful woman ravaged by disease in her wheelchair. Her family loved her, cared for her; she was a vital member of the group. She was enjoying Sunday Brunch in the land of Bosch. Good and bad side by side. We are members of the Agony and Ecstasy Club. Today we are up; tomorrow we are down, but do not count us out.  

The evening clouds have a light pink hue. They are ribbons across the pale blue sky. It is cooler this evening. The Wood Duck loves it. The Northern Cardinal sings for joy of living.

I have a birthday coming. I am victorious when I achieve the special day. I have made it through this mystery for another year. If we read about a character in a story who did not know if she or he would live another day, did not know what was going to happen from one moment until the next, did not know if the massive stone was going to roll down the hill to crush her or him, we would feel empathy; that is us.