Thanks to you all for coming out to play and for being nice to me and to each other.
You are my collage.  

 
You are my Peeps!

See ya on the other side.

John, Distantshipsmoke and E..

It's 4:00 AM and I'm watching it rain. I've been listening to the downpour from the snugness of my bed for about an hour now. Here in July, if a straight rain lasts longer than an hour and high winds never develop and the weather alert radio doesn't go off, I consider the drenching an event. It is worth getting out of bed and taking a look. Rain without severe winds just doesn't happen that much in this part of the country. But this month has practically been a monsoon, we have accumulated 2" of rain in July. Compared to most years it seems like a monsoon anyway. I predict we will get more than another inch this morning. Glorious rain!

Two years ago I wrote this:

Looking out over the harvested field across the road from my home, during this hottest and driest July that we have had in years, I wonder if anything can possibly survive. Hopefully under the crust, just below the widening cracks, nature's work continues. Just digging my hand a few inches below the surface I can feel the coolness of the ground and feel that all is not baked. Just below the hot, wind dried hopelessness, life is still at work, continuing to prepare for another season. Only the surface waits for rain.   

Gaze long upon the stubbled wheat
and the fruit's dry amber veins
What once were fields of wind blown sprouts
are now the dry straw's remains.

No rains will fill the lengthened cracks
Hot south winds now dry the dust
Only hope of August's evening storms
will soften land's arid crust.

But just below this hardened shell
Nurtured work is now concealed
Tasks consumed by primordial life
Secrets soon to be revealed

So put away the tandem plow
Let no steel scar this sacred earth
For below the field must breathe and brew
preparing next season's birth.

DSS

         Well we only have a few days before the Xanga change. I guess it will either be Xanga on the WordPress platform or no Xanga. If no Xanga, I'm guessing most will be moving to a different blog site somewhere. Very early I signed up for the new Xanga.02 and I do hope they, I should say we, succeed in raising the capital to continue. It is very close to the goal. I think those of us left and still faithfully hanging on here will continue on with Xanga in what ever form it takes in the future. Regardless of the outcome, we all will continue to identify ourselves as "Xangans" (or should it be "Xangonians") not "X-Xangans" anymore than we could call ourselves X-Italians, X-Huguenots or X-Kansans.
           Over the years we have all acquired or created an identity because of this community we have been a part of. For some, perhaps the only identity they have ever had or cared to admit to, whether your blog had hundreds of subs, friends or footprints or whether you just enjoyed using Xanga as a personal journal with only an occasional visitor. Either way we have declared ourselves as individuals, free to move inside or if we wished outside of the box and Xanga has given us a place to express ourselves to the whole world or simply to record our thoughts privately in an interesting format that's available to us no matter were we are at. And probably more importantly we have all been able to expose ourselves to diversity, creativity and points of view that otherwise we would never be aware of.  All from the comfort of our own couch, motel room or fancy new mobile device. That is pretty awesome considering only a few years ago the only place we could do that was in a red spiral notebook, a letter to your folks and friends or if we were pissed off enough , a letter to the editor.
            To put it simply into perspective, it is fun here. I am sure none of us are here because we hate it. So let's keep having fun. 

DSS.

As a child my first encounter with human death was at the age of eight attending my grandfather's funeral. We lived on a farm at the time and seeing the death of animals of all sorts was already common even for a boy of my age. But now experiencing the thoughts all people have of death of a close family member, this was the first personal relationship I had lost and my mind was filled with all sorts of thoughts.  And it was the first that I remember thinking of human death and realizing that someday I may experience it. Even at that age I was skeptical of the traditional explanations of heaven that my mother was telling me. Welcome to a bit of my childhood macabre and a night I spent peering from underneath my blankets and even then making up words for things I was trying to understand.  

There are none
None that burn the candle or stir the last dimming coals
that haven't listened for that noise or peered into the night shadows
listening for that hum and watching for the fleeting movement in the night
while holding breath and staring deeply with squint eyes
hoping it is not there but still anxious to have but a glimpse
as if seeing only briefly would make it less.
Beware the Doombroser.
One that no one has seen but all have felt.
Beware your wish to see that shadow or hear that hum.
For last visions seen and last breaths taken may follow. 
From under the protection of blankets we watch and listen
Minding mother's words of just asleep and gone to heaven
And remembering the smell of the scent of magnolias.

DSS

Among the 300 million that silently line the Avenue
We stand shoulder to shoulder but some feel alone
Our chests swell as the Flags pass
Hand on heart we only feel the beat of the parade drums
And hear the hooves of Horses with backward facing stirrups
pulling caissons draped with red white and blue
Carrying those as battle spent as the munitions it once held.
Passing the tears of widows and the salutes of little boys

Trump....Trump....Trump.trump.trump

Trump....Trump....Trump.trump.trump

The long parade of Liberty, hard fought, slowly passes.

DSS