Like the end of "Casablanca" but without the waiting airplane and without the girl.

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In front of the Treasury Building, some Christmas cheer. I'm not sure who the statue guy is, but it is almost certain to be Alexander Hamilton in the tight pants and long coat in the fog.

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There was a fog recently that came down on Washington DC like a fur coat. It was unusually warm for December. The fog made everything look hidden. It was hard to get my bearings as I walked from one end of town to another. The heaviest area of fog, interestingly enough, was over the White House. This, I felt, was as it should be; the natural order of things; a sign from above. Of course, for anyone living here during the last few years, it could be said that this was nothing new. There's been a heavy fog over Washington for years, but the fog has been thickest both over the White House and the Capital.

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Dressed in black.

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It could be snowing in Washington, DC, but it isn't. It's December 20 and the sun is shinning and there is a "nip" in the air, but it isn't too bad. For December, it is glorious; picnic weather almost. I can almost foresee our annual, traditional, Christmas Picnic! This global climate change thing could work out OK for us. I won't have to move to Florida (Ackk) or someplace south when I retire. I can stay right here because the Florida weather is moving here instead.

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It's a full frontal assault; a wall of wood almost, but not quite, touching.

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I think that religions are what its followers do. On that basis, I've never been that happy in what is out there. Except for the vapor that is zen. I like the idea of nothingness, of passing, like a vapor, a low hum, a breeze. When I walk down the street, I try to become the other people, the buildings, the sound of traffic; to be the sky and the clouds, the things I see as I turn my head, the sounds that wash over me and then are gone. I try to be the moment that turns into another moment and then another, loosing myself in the surround, becoming a part of the wheel that turns.

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I don't know who she is or where she came from or where the photo was taken. It must have been a windy day, judging from the way she is protecting her hair net from it. She's wearing gloves and sturdy shoes, as I'm sure all shoes were then, and showing a bit of leg, as was perhaps the style. I don't know the building behind her, but it's blankness suggests "industrial", and there appears to be a young garden planted in the earth behind where she stands. I don't know who is taking the picture, but I imagine it is a man and a relation to her. She is a visitor from another time and an unknown place and I am delighted that she came to visit me.

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This is why Abstract Expressionism was such a big deal back in the day: there was so much to look at and make sense of. This, however, is real life and but the story is pretty much the same here; there's so much to make sense of.

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It was the summer of 1973. His girlfriend was pregnant and he was supposed to go back to school in three months.

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The worst part is the part where you're waiting for something to happen, not really knowing what that will be when it finally does happen. It could be good; it could be very, very bad. It probably won't be very, very good. That's pretty much a given. But if the waiting part is the worst part, then it's pretty good overall.

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Long ago, and far away, this is what it looked like to be an early adapter of the new technologies that relied on the burning of carbon based fuels. I found this image at a yard sale. I like the fact that the man refilling the radiator, or whatever it is he's doing, is wearing white, top to bottom. He seems to be somewhere in a desert, so maybe it's to stay cool as this was before we used carbon based technologies to cool our homes and Hummers. He seems to have everything under control, but is unaware of what, just a few years down the road, would be the result that he, his son, and his son's son love of gasoline powered joy rides.

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These are the children of the rocks, Old Rag Mountain, VA

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She thought to herself: "I'm bored. I probably have always been bored. There's nothing to do but lay around and be a decoration in a sea of decoration. He hates me, I know. But, ya know what? I hate him back. I hate the way he smells and the bulk of him and the way he talks to me and the way he looks at me and the way he sucks his teeth. If I was smarter I would've gotten myself a better man. But, this is what I'm stuck with, so this is how it will be. Liz would've never put up with what I have to put up with; even with that English one, Richard. I'm sick of chocolate, too."

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It's Fall, y'all and it shines like a diamond in the rough.

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