WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT(S)

Skyler's existential meanderings

Winter rumblings

For the dog it's just another winter in exactly the same place as last year.  

For humans, well, I wouldn't call it contentment, and it certainly ain't gemütlichkeit.

But really, for most of us white people, at any rate, it's okay.  We're going to be okay and those of us who happen not to work for the federal government in one capacity or another, or aren't migrant workers or would-be emigrees, or transgenders, or recipients of international aid, or medical researchers or recipients thereof, or ripped-off consumers, or poor people, or those in other categories that haven't yet been named yet for cuts or abolition or prosecution, they'll probably be okay, too.

I worry about the free press  (Major networks being sued; PBS, NPR threatened; daughter-in-law installed on Fox News; a little pressure here, a little pressure there goes a long way.)    

 I worry about climate change (Forget about renewable energy; EPA gutted; NOAA–weather service!–threatened)  

I worry about justice (Too many instances to enumerate.)   

I worry about the fate of many people.                                                                                                                                                                                            

I fear for the natural world.

Of course Trump isn't himself doing much of this, he's just throwing open the gates.  He has Elon Musk to do the dirty. So he will be able to take credit or deny, depending on how things go.  The eagerness of so many elected and unelected happy warriors who now have permission to carry out their darkest prejudices is endlessly shocking.  (See VP Vance:  "Judges aren't allowed to control Trump's legitimate power.")

Then there's the Gaza thing, removing the inconvenient occupants, buying the real estate.  That comes straight out of the New York Tycoon playbook. (See "The Apprentice," for the origin story. The film, not the TV series.)  Overlook the suffering, the history, whatever––it's oceanfront property.  Real estate. There's money to be made.  Power to be exercised. 

There was a moment when Trump said he was stopping all aid to South Africa because of racial persecution that I thought, well, at least there's a good thing.  Then I realized he meant white Afrikaners.

For those who paid attention, there are no mysteries here.  None of this was hidden.  It was in the plan (Project 2025) and it was in the man.  Narcissists never have enough.

Winter ramblings

Having feelings of awe for small things keeps all that other stuff iat bay.  At least for a while.  

Found in the woodshed

Yesterday found this soft clump of stuff in my woodpile. A bit bigger than a handful.  Light as the finest eiderdown, bits of grass woven along with many tiny blue-gray feathers.  How soft and cozy it must have been to whatever nestling it enclosed. It was clearly made during the summer when grasses were dry and snakes were shedding their skins (see below).  A safe spot too, as once stacked in June, the wood would be untouched until late fall. What did it shelter?  The tiny bird feathers suggest a bird nest, but the fact that I found it half way down a stack under many split logs makes that seem improbable.  Both chipmunks and songbirds have been reported as nesting in woodpiles, but still.  I'm going with chipmunks.  As for those bird feathers, it's a mystery. 

Pieces of snakes shedded skin complete the decor

I know it wasn't a big deal.  Just a small thing.  

Bird traffic, plus ?

This is where winter has it over other seasons, at least when there's snow.  You learn what other creatures besides yourselves have been up to.  I can usually identify the tracks, but there's often mystery in that as well.   In this case, what look like deer tracks can't be, unless the deer was headed from the bird feeder to the front porch.  I'm going with dog.