That great mystery in the sky -- the sun -- made a brief
appearance today, at a very low wattage.
It was an iron-poor-blood sun, an emaciated sun,
an impotent sun, a scant sun.
A sun without ambition.
A non-fat sun.
A salt-free sun.
An out-of-work sun.
A mumbling sun.
A sun who refuses to take its meds.
An introverted sun.
The sun-who-was-a-bear and went back into its cave.
In other news, I had coffee today with my son,
who falls into none of the categories listed above.
(Well, except for the out-of-work part.)
I am amused and a bit appalled at the language
used to describe the cause of the US Airways
jet engine failure -- it was a "bird strike."
Is that like terrorist strike?
Led by Osama Bird Laden?
Anyway, it's a pretty amazing story
of skill on the pilot's part.
I'm just sorry for the birds.
Listening to Chopin nocturnes
and sipping just a smidgen of red wine.