Endgames

I drove down to Birch Bay last night. Driving towards the border on Highway 99, it looked as though soft flakes of snow were whirling towards the windscreen.
There was no wait to cross, none at all. No unpleasantness.
Sitting under a tin roof, the rain came again, calming, continual.

By midday today, the weather had warmed up. The summer snow of cottonwood fluff drifted constantly down through the blue sky - one of those Ridley Scott afternoons.

In the shopping mall, I bought a book by Carl Bernstein about Hillary Rodham Clinton. I'll undoubtedly drone on endlessly about her life.
I'd like to say that the American people will get the tosspot they deserve for their President, but that's not true. I know good people who feel let down that they won't have the opportunity to vote for Hillary and clearly the registered democrats of America have turned out in droves to vote for her, stating loudly and clearly that she is who they want to represent them, but their voices will be ignored.

Crossing back into Canada, I checked the voicemail on the cell phone and learnt that I had lost a friend. Dolly died last night. I'm glad she didn't have to face the suffering she feared the most, to slowly deteriorate into Alzheimer's, but still, disease can play a brutal endgame.