It's been raining off and on, mostly on for the entire motherfucking week. It's a bitter, mean-spirited rain, the sort that sneaks through your coat, gets under your hat and sidles past your umbrella.
I suppose somewhere there's a passel of republicans who are banging a drum about the precipitation. It must mean that global warming isn't real and god is bringing his retribution down on Barack Obama.
Every week, just about, there are ten or 12 excesses that seem to be ironclad evidence that the world is going to hell in a handbasket.
North Korea tests a missile.
The Air Force sprays lithium through the atmosphere.
Our food is polluted.
Trump could be president.
Our industry is dying.
You name it, it's horrible.
Still, despite it all, we march on.
We laugh.
We cry.
We work.
We raise our families.
We move forward.
If we're lucky, we laugh some more.
We raise our umbrellas, cast our eyes forward, and march ahead.
Like Faulkner said, we won't just endure.
We'll prevail.
Even if we get a little wet.
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