Today is the day we drive south, down to our daughters place down
in the Palm Springs area. We’re so
excited to see our other Granddaughter. But
before I go, I want to bang out another blog, so here we go…
MLB. The Chicago Cubbies have the best record so
far at 11-3 (.786), while Oakland currently has the best record in the AL at
12-6 (.667).
NBA. Damian Lillard – WOW. He dropped 61 on Dallas the other night while
clinching the #8 seed and a first round date with the Los Angeles Fakers, one
day after he hung 51 on Philly the night before. Now I’m not so sure that they can beat LA,
but I think they can make those dirty Fakers work for the series win.
I’m also very happy to see him talking crap on Skip
Bayless. That dude just needs to retire.
Poem. This is such a good, solid description of
August in California, that I felt it was worthy of sharing.
California Hills in August by
Dana Gioia
I can imagine someone who found
these fields unbearable, who climbed
the hillside in the heat, cursing the dust,
cracking the brittle weeds underfoot,
wishing a few more trees for shade.
An Easterner especially, who would scorn
the meagerness of summer, the dry
twisted shapes of black elm,
scrub oak, and chaparral, a landscape
August has already drained of green.
One who would hurry over the clinging
thistle, foxtail, golden poppy,
knowing everything was just a weed,
unable to conceive that these trees
and sparse brown bushes were alive.
And hate the bright stillness of the noon
without wind, without motion.
the only other living thing
a hawk, hungry for prey, suspended
in the blinding, sunlit blue.
And yet how gentle it seems to someone
raised in a landscape short of rain—
the skyline of a hill broken by no more
trees than one can count, the grass,
the empty sky, the wish for water.
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