I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Flat out

Busy weekend is over. Back home from the writers group. Ended up not having to announce the parade. The person who normally does it had been planning a camp out. With the rains on Saturday night, they got washed out, so she was available. But had to run from there to the group.

Hopefully this week might be a little slower and I can get rested before the weekend.

So practically nothing to report except that I survived.

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