A wet, foggy, almost white out morning coffee muses.

The heavy fog is keeping the sounds that drift in from the bypass to a minimum. But, it’s also amplifying the bird chatter in the shared yard out back here. I can’t see them, but hear them I do.

There’s a steady drip… drip… drip on the lid of the garbage can. Fog condensed onto the roof, the gutter, the fascia… running down and dropping free. The fog, as it does around here, is getting thicker. The line of trees that surrounds the old homestead stand like ghostly sentinels, there but almost not there. Ghosts of a bygone era still hanging on to a vestige of reality.

This is the type of atmosphere that brings out the color in the red oak. There is still green predominant in the foliage, but the moisture in the air sucks it right out of the light, pushing it into the background, while making the orange much more prominent… fall is finally close… but not too close. The bald cypress are still green.

I called my Senate critters yesterday to express my opposition to their tax plan. It won’t do any good, but I made the effort. I’ll call again today and let them know what I think about the effort by Trump’s FCC to roll back net neutrality. That’s the nice thing about having them on speed dial. And I’ll donate some more to the campaign of Beto O’Rourke to replace Ted Cruz.

It’s time for the Johnson backlash to end. Civil Rights was the death of Democrats in the south. But, you would think that 50 years later the south would have gotten over it… Oh hell, what the f was I thinking… It’s been 150 years and we’re still litigating what the reason was for the civil war. Same issues, same argument, same results… nothing changes… not in the south. Not until demographics finally catches up to real democracy.

Gotta run…