This summer, as ever, there's much to do.
But only one or two things I want to do.

I told Alan that, like him, I'm never bored.
But today, like a teenager, I'm both tired and bored.

The long expanse of summer stretches forward. Alan plans
the next 2 years in advance, always moving forward. I can't plan

the next 2 hours, sitting on my ****, undecided whether
to clean the house, make a list of prospective donors, or check the
      5-day weather

forecast. Fires out west, hurricanes south, drought here
in the east where the garden phlox withers and the corn's stunted. We
      hear

prophecies of armageddon, doom, but humans may go on another
      thousand, million or billion years
undaunted. What is that to you. A day alone in your room and a year

are inexplicable. Now and then a vacation, baseball game, night of
      love.
A divorce, a death, a drouth. To survive and prosper we must love

all of it, insect infestations and world wars, cloud curlicues and square
      dances, work
and weekends off. Knowing the unknowable = never knowing how the
      world works.