Sunday, December 16, 2012

Cone, 3

As predicted, Saturday was warmer. The cone warmed in the morning sun, and the condensation on its cold steel surface evaporated. I liked looking at the geometry of it, against the field and the woods. In the morning we watched the ongoing Connecticut story unfolding. The mother was not a teacher at all, but perhaps a shooting enthusiast. Her younger son came to the range with her, and was reclusive but very smart. Her husband and their older son had moved out a few years back. She would go to a local bar of an evening and have a drink. The boy had tried to buy his own rifle and been turned down by the store. Teachers performed acts of remarkable heroism. The principal died heroically, as did the school psychologist. Newtown was described as the safest place in America. Some jerk "preacher" from Alabama said this is what happens when "god is not wanted" in a school, while his very words illustrated what happens when God is not welcomed in a heart.

In the early afternoon the cone was ready.

There is possibly some Christmas about this, and something older.

The Anasazi dreams remain, a great wind behind a red-rock canyon wall.


There is a great deal of thoughtful writing at Digby's joint right now. The following link is outstanding:

The deeply muddled American comprehension of its place in the world is reflected in the facts reported by Juan Cole:

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