Everything was normal. Halloween was coming. First midterm elections. The hallmark of democracy. Let the people decide the rule of the people. It has been thus since our founding. You may not agree with the winner, but he or she played by the rules; acceptance was the rule. All adults get a vote. It took a long time for everyone to have a vote. Elections are a good thing. People watch with respect as power transfers peacefully. If we do not like the policies of our politicans we vote. A beautiful thing. No fear or favor democracy. Politicans campaign, tell us their plan; we decide if we want it. Then the hunger crept in. Quiet at first. Invisible at first. Imperceptible at first.

Money is power. The people had no money. Their elected leader spoke for them. ‘A chicken in every pot and a car in every garage,’ Hoover told us. The Depression came. People were hungry. People were sad. The President’s words were hollow. Business learned they could purchase influence. The elite learned they could have things their way. Lobbyists discovered many politicians had little money; they wanted more. The Hunger lurked in the shadows.

‘I must take care of my constituency,’ Mr. Politician said. ‘They are the ones who put me in office; I must heed their call,’ Mr. P said. ‘The Man in the Shadows does have some good ideas; it would not hurt to try some. I will think about it on my holiday to Bermuda,’ Mr. P mused. ‘My wife and kids deserve a good vacation; they suffer so that I can hold my high office,’ Mr. P laughed. ‘I need to move to the good gated community to ensure that I can reach the big donors. ‘ If you have no money, you have no power,’ Mr. P danced on one leg and then the other.

‘Religion mixed with politics is the answer, the TV Preacher extolled. ‘We must turn our government into a theocrachy,’ TP continued. ‘When our people are the decision makers christianity will be paramount and evil doers will shudder for their sins,’ TP laughed. ‘The saints of God have money a lot of money we will put it to good use electing those who believe like we do, ‘To all our friends we wish them well and all the rest can go to hell,’ TP said as he rocked and rolled on stage.

‘Trick or Treat the familiar looking Ghost said,’ the Old Man recounted. ‘I have been on Holiday but I am back,’ Familiar Ghost said. ‘I am the Familiar Ghost of Christmas Present,’ Familiar Ghost continued. ‘I have weilded much power and yet do from my hiding place,’ FG laughed. ‘My words hurt the Republic some say while others call me a Hero of the Cause,’ FG blinked.

‘This is it; this is the big one,’ Chet announced. ‘Four days left to swim at Pounds Hollow,’ Chet continued. ‘Labor Day is Monday,’ Chet observed. ‘Where did the summer go? It began yesterday and ends soon,’ Chet noted. ‘We must have an End of Summer Swim at PH,’ Chet proclaimed! ‘Perhaps we will see the whole town there for this event,’ Chet observed.

Well, I will bring Salameats along with the Oscar Mayer Wieners and Merlot,’ Neva J said. ‘Salameats have a hidden recipe that no one knows except the makers of the sausage,’ Neva J winked and grinned. ‘They are an experience like none you have ever had…Salameats are where the culinary mysteries are,’ Neva J laughed. ‘Once you try one, you will settle for nothing else,’ Neva J danced.

‘Mrs K said Look for a surprise at the lake. ‘ There’s a big dark hole near the beach that people are entering and not returning from,’ Jane said. ‘Some say it is a Wormhole,’ Jane said cautiously. ‘Billy B entered the Wormhole as a kid, and now he is a man running Billy B’s Emporium of the Unusual,’ Jane noted with a strange look in her eyes. ‘Billy B says he went in the Wormhole in 1963 and came out in 2026. When I explained to him that he would be nearly 70 years old if that had happened, he said he knew,’ Jane explained. ‘He looks his age,’ Jane mused.

‘I have never seen anything like that hole in the air near the beach,’ Neva J confirmed. ‘Pounds Hollow Beach is empty, as everyone has entered to explore where they will end up,’ Neva J continued. ‘Let us follow them into the vortex and see what happens,’ Neva J encouraged.

‘Remember when we entered the strange Wormhole on Pounds Hollow Beach in 1963,’ Chet asked. ‘What happened between 1963 and 2026? I have no memory of the time passed,’ Chet mused. ‘We were young, and now we are old,’ Chet observed. ‘And when did we pick up our little friend Zog?’ Chet laughed.

Dolly Parton’s final message was, My little butterfly wings are getting tired.’ When I read this, I wondered if she had long to live. We have wings to soar if we like. The decision is ours. When our wings are strong and vigorous, we ask what to do with them. We take them off and place them in a safe place to protect such a valuable asset. ‘I may need my wings one day,’ the Careful Man said. ‘Someone may want to borrow my wings and forget to return them,’ the Careful Man continued. ‘What will people think if they see me flying about with my pristine wings? They will be envious, jealous, afraid,’ the Careful Man concluded. ‘People will be asking to see my wings touch them, try them on,’ CM noted. ‘What if the government decides to tax wings?’ CM asked.

The Crows were talking in the Woods this morning. When the Old Man walked close, they chatted like magpies. ‘Well, there is the Old Man again,’ Claude Crow said. ‘He never seems to snap enough photos,’ Claude continued. ‘You will know him by the hats he wears,’ CC laughed. ‘He is a bit of a peculiar chap,’ CC observed. ‘He listens to Audible.com,’ Claude offered. ‘I would like a subscription to Audible.com for Christmas; it is a quiet time of year, and I want a hat like the Old Man,’ Claude Crow exclaimed. ‘I want a leather Outback Hat like OM wears in the winter months,’ CC said with satisfaction. ‘Then I will walk with him in the woods, and we will discuss world affairs,’ CC noted with a big smile.

So we are together again. There is much to do. What talents we have hidden in the closet or on the Earth are needed to help each other. In the tradition of a good horror flick, the monster is in the house. While we peer out our windows for danger, our enemy is behind us. We now pick fights with our best friends, neighbors, those who care about our welfare. We look for The Other rather than take responsibility for our mistakes. A childish, sophomoric name for those we want to demean. When a logical question is posed, the leader lashes out for vengeance, a pound of flesh to prove the point that the leader can do no wrong.

The days of Halloween monsters are here. Frankenstein will smoke a cigar with the blind man and smile, saying, Cigars are good.’ The Creature from the Black Lagoon will seek solace and understanding. Ichabod Crane will run from the Headless Horseman. We will sit by the campfire in the fall chill. S’mores, hot chocolate, and ghost stories.

‘Have you seen my wings, honey?’ I know I put them in the closet somewhere, McGee said as he slowly opened the closet door.

The Old Man woke up on September Morn. He waited for this experience all year. He likes it all, but he loves the BER Months. No hint of fall yet. Ninety-eight degrees. Heat Dome. He did not request a Dome of any kind. A butterfly was his friend in the Woods this morning. The butterfly would not leave. B. Fly knew the Old Man liked his company.

Leaves were falling on this first of September. The Woods understands what time it is. The baby turkeys have grown. They are excited to be in the world. The Song of the Fall is beginning. It is a pleasant song that hearkens back to precious memories. The Bible says that all the trees of the field will clap their hands.

Why do we choose to believe lies when we are surrounded by truth? Joy, peace, hope, and love are our companions if our eyes are not diverted by gold, greed, and bias. We humans, tend to create our own reality a bit with brick and mortar and golden statues. Cities where the skyscrapers reach to Heaven and block the sky.

‘Why worry about tomorrow?’ Guardian Angel said. ‘You have clothes, food, and a place to lay your head,’ Guardian Angel continued. ‘ Did you help to raise the Sun this morning?’ Guardian Angel noted. ‘Mr. Butterfly worries not yet is cared for,’ Guardian Angel winked. ‘Humanity wants what it does not possess and when gained is still disappointed,’ Guardian Angel laughed. ‘Whatever your name is affixed to is not yours; vanity and vexation of spirit,’ Guardian Angel said.

We are happy dust. A spirit inside a clay jar. We know better; we have been better; our real home is better; we remember and weep for our childish ways. How does a man begin as a baby, grow and become a baby again?

The door to happiness, fulfillment, and a sense of place we walk through each morning. We rise from our bed with our magnificent reconstituted body of Dust to meet the day. The mystery is what can be done with Spirit and Dust!

Dreaming of fall. August has reached its last day. It is 95 degrees. A few leaves are changing. Cool weather is coming. Fall colors will brighten our spirits. Cool breezes will quicken our steps. When September comes, we know we must get about our business. The Holidays are here. It is time for fall decorations, Halloween decorations, Thanksgiving decorations, and Christmas Decorations. There are so many decorations with the BER Months that January seems blase. This year the scary stories will be scarier. This year we will be truly thankful. This year we will have the ‘hap hap happiest Christmas since Christmas since Bing Crosby danced with Danny F—–g Kaye.’

The Quiet are watching. Are we the home of the tempest tost? As we wassail and dance, can the children called Want and Ignorance look out from beneath the coat of the Ghost of Christmas Present and see us in our revelry?

‘It is a hot beginning for September,’ the Old Man mused with Mr. Badger and Mr. Mole on his walk in the woods. ‘It does not seem like fall is almost here,’ the Old Man said. ‘We must have a celebration on the river with all of our friends,’ the Old Man said joyfully.

‘We shall invite Trump, who is friends with the Weasels, to our party,’ Badger said. ‘The Weasels are a tricky bunch, but they do enjoy an autumn party on the river,’ Badger continued. ‘It is said the President is a teetotaller, but I know for a fact he enjoys a bit of hot apple cider,’ Mr. Badger winked.

So darkness is almost here. The long days yield to September. The Bullfrog Quartet is about to begin their nightly performance. They have been practicing; they are in good voice. They delight in the coming of fall. This year they are booked for a fall tour of Europe. The Frog Quartet is loved in the United Kingdom at Christmas.