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P
eople, it is Sunday morning. The seasons have shifted and the
light is rich and yellow-warm instead of the hot-hot-hot white of summer.
Shadows are long, and the nights are cool, all is groovacious. (Bodaciously
groovy.)
T
he "widows"
have been in all summer and now the roaches are moving in,
seeking their winter asylum. It's only really bad when they wake you up
at night, under the covers feeding on dead skin -- and stuff.
O
h, God.
"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son,
that whoever
believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life."
[John 3:16]
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T
his land is your land,
this land is my land,
from California, to the New York Island,
from the redwood forests, to the Gulf Stream waters,
This land was made for you and me."
A
s I went walking, that ribbon of highway,
I saw before me, that glorious skyway
a voice came calling, as I was walking,
This land was made for you and me."
T
his land is your land,
this land is my land,
from California, to the New York Island,
from the redwood forests, to the Gulf Stream waters,
This land was made for you and me."
["This Land is Your Land", Woody Guthrie]
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PLANET
ARKADELPHIA
