August already. Beginning of the end of summer in the academic calendar, descent into hell in terms of weather. Highs this week close to 110. Nowhere near the end of summer, which happens in these parts around mid-October. (Just in time for the Texas State Fair and this year's specialty, fried.... beer???)
I've missed posting here, the weird little funny, whiny, self-mocking things I was really starting to get into that don't belong anywhere else. But whimsy is the one of the first things to go this time of year as leaves and lawns shrivel, and energy wanes.
What kind of brush fire happens in a field of dead and dying whimsy?
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Which of course reminded me of this...
Harlem [Dream Deferred]
by Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
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