chilly times

The dawn came up tinged with pink in anticipation of ... well, who knows, but the Midwest is getting clocked by a bout of cold and snow and here in the East, we await our turn. Windshields are rimed with frost and the need for more layers of clothes asserts itself. High, high in the sky a couple of contrails are pink as clouds.

There is mayhem and sorrow aplenty around the world, much of it generated by greed and importance.  I am happy there are people willing to do something about it, though I do wish state-sanctioned killing were not so predominantly part of the solution.

In the street, the local rabbit sits still as salt before moving on. Soon enough, perhaps, the sauntering chickens may make an appearance. I have no news or views worth reporting.

Oh wait ... Thich Nhat Hanh, 88, the second most influential Buddhist after the Dalai Lama by some reckonings, is in the hospital with a brain hemorrhage. In France, I think. The announcements are so delicate that the actual danger is hard to assess, though the delicacy suggests death may be the outcome.

Funny how the only way to judge the impact of one hero or another is for that hero to get out of the way ... die, or something similar.