Presidential Bedding
It was Presidents’ Day though their birthdays were ten days apart. Congress callously crammed them together so we could go out at buy new mattresses. Dunno why beds are such a big deal in February, maybe ‘cause we have White sales in January. I’m a-feared that the yahoos in Washington may overreach and issue an edict – for the benefit of bedding industry that requires every citizen – every true American – to buy a new bed set on the third Monday of the second month. Would you like the extra long Honest Abe, or the slightly portly model with the wooden teeth, the Cherry George?
Meanwhile, here in the parallel universe where the gold is in the sunshine, the AT&T Open is done, the golf madness over, the myriad cars and gawkers have returneth to their own. The waves that know the greens only of its own sea, pound and spray with Maverick winter’s joy, boundless of the familiar shore.
The otters take no notice, munching their pricey abalone snacks while the whales spout their seasonal track to the south. Above, the pelicans, masters of grace in the skies, fly this way and that, showing no hurry, seeming no purpose; perhaps just working off their piscine repast.
The air is fresh with ocean’s spray, the sun smiles warmer to hint of spring. Flowers shriek their gay colors above a bed of emerald grasses.
The tourists delight in the moment, their discovery of Eden; their cameras clicking on memories of historic appeal.
The smiles on familiar faces penetrate the gloom of the headlines and promise that we shall outshine every politician and other scoundrel. There is music in their greetings, angels’ voices drowning out the grumblings and doubts.
Nature is more than a companion. She gives us direction back inside of ourselves to be a part of the greater good. Methinks that knowledge is at the heart of all great leaders, regardless of how they are remembered.
©2010 SetonnoteS
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