I have added this video poem elsewhere but I felt it needed its own post.  The empty swing has become an archetype for end of days, my end of days, our end of days.  I am not being dark here or dwelling without reason on memento mori,  but the driving music I found for this…

Coldest morning of the short year: 2 F and wind chill of -25. But who’s counting. Here’s a morning accounting of yesterday. Bright sunshiny day, starrish night, planets aplenty. Really want to see Saturn through a telescope. Chimney fire almost got away from me, dancing its cherry hot plasma inside the pipes and up the…