This Summer, As Ever

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.