It’s a dark and stormy morning. There’s whistling and moaning About the eaves and gables. Bean sized drops are blown horizontally against the window pane. A good time for sleeping in but I seemed wired, expectant, energized. The elements are perturbed all around me and I am, so far, safe and dry in my room.

It means little in the long term. Just as our forebears did, I’ll hunker down in the mouth of my cave and wait for the storm to pass and then wait to see if the sun shines again.

Better minds have wondered why those ancients moved from their snug holes in the hillside. Dangerous neighbors? Lack of food? Domestic strife? I wonder what it would take to move me from mine. Could a storm such as this do it?

I think it may be wise to make a back-up pot of coffee while the power is still on. Maybe throw a slice of bacon on the stove, just in case. Such are the random bubbles of nonsense rising to the surface of the dark pond of my morning mind.

Jerry Henderson

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