The Writer’s Section was edgy this morning. “Is it over yet? Can we get back to something pastoral and pleasant? It is the height of a mostly lovely summer, the warmth and vitality of the Piedmont summer is flowing all around us. We have identified native eagles that fly above these sweet green pastures. We live in the bounty of nature. Can we drop the politics for a while?”

“Are politics going to drop us?”

The Interns, never having lived any other way, looked a little baffled. There wasn’t any natural way of doing all this from their perspective, and the Salts did what they normally do in response. They shrugged, gave a few wry grimaces, and went back to muttering quietly.

“So where are we in this improbable movie?” Loma may have not tuned fully into the new day, and needed a quick check on reality.

DeMille had his list, on his iPad of course, and started slowly. “We have accepted unshaven people wearing t-shirts on international television. There is talk that make-up is falling out of favor with those who used to use it. There are big social changes. Kabul fell to the Islamists, and we have nearly a week to get everyone we care about, out. The House is back at work, and they passed the huge budget in a single party-line vote with lots of good stuff in it yesterday afternoon, so some folks are hard at work. The Labor Day break is almost on us. Temps today will be in the low 90s with a little sultry summer feel to it. 15% chance of passing showers.” He jammed an index finger into the detent button that shut the device down.

Silence greeted his summation. Finally, Loma lurched forward, spilling some of his now lukewarm coffee on his lap. “Is the COVID thing coming back?”

“The experts say it is, though the vaccines don’t really work against it, even though some of them are no longer experimental.”

“Does that mean the experiment worked?”

“Well, no. Or maybe, since we can’t tell without the masks who is vaccinated or not. But there will be some experimental booster shots available soon, so they can be mandatory if we want to go to town.”

More silence. “Is Belmont Farms Distillery within the city limits?”

More silence, but with a few smiles. “Nope. But if we head out that way, the Rapidan River is wide open by the Wicked Bottom where the old timers used to have fun. Anyone want to go fishing?”

Anything but politics sounded just fine, and there was a discussion about a lottery to see who would be first to get the keys to the truck.

Copyright 2021 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com