Not Just a Mountain, Not Just a Walk

When I lived in Illinois, or The Shire as I like to call it, all that flatness and rolling green monotony tended to unnerve me after awhile. I'd been born and raised in The West, where the landscape can be desolate and magnificent, where mountain ranges offer shelter and safety, and the people, for all their crazy religious and political faults, are wild and dangerous, but somehow beautiful in their purity. After months in Chicago's suburbs, nothing brought me more joy or peace of mind than returning home to Idaho, driving up to my special spot in the mountains that surround Pocatello and sitting or walking in silence while a summer breeze played with the bumblebees and wildflowers, or a winter wind ravished the junipers and the sandstone cliffs. Mountain Therapy, I called it, and it was so precious to me that only a few hours of it could sustain my mental health for months, or even a year.

When Ken and I moved to Denver ten years ago we spent our weekends exploring the area, driving up to Lyons and Estes Park where we sipped Bloody Mary's at the Stanley Hotel, or visiting Keystone and Steamboat, venturing south to Pikes Peak and Colorado Springs, where the crazies live, driving through the San Juan Mountains and over Wolf Creek Pass, feeling as though the car was flying and not touching the ground at all. Ken had grown up in the Midwest and there was something magical about watching his face each time we rounded a curve in the road and entirely new vistas opened up before us, jutting mountains, treacherous valleys, an endless expanse of desert, sage and antelope.

And then I got sick. I couldn't conceive of visiting the mountains let alone leaving the safety of my home. The anxiety robbed me of much of my ability to enjoy the things which were at the core of who I was. For an entire summer I laid on my couch unable to read a book or watch television or listen to music. Duncan stayed with me, though, and looked after me, offering his weight as a brace when I was so dizzy I could only crawl to the bathroom. When the panic attacks got bad, when my chest felt as though it would explode and my brain throbbed and raced as though it already had, when I couldn't breathe and began doubting my strength and how much more I could endure, he would climb onto the couch, step softly onto my chest and look directly into my eyes, matching his breathing to my own and then slowly, almost imperceptibly take longer and deeper breaths, soothing me and bringing the calm I thought would elude me forever. When I had no faith in myself or my doctors, Duncan stepped forward and reminded me that magic still exists in the world and that not all of it could, or should, be explained.

There have been a hundred small triumphs in the four years since, almost all of them things that most people don't even have to think about, like driving to work, going to a movie, standing with pride in a crowd of two-hundred thousand people at an Obama rally, traveling to and from Idaho in severe weather with only Duncan and my magic feathers to keep me sane. But yesterday, quite unexpectedly, The Universe offered me another chance to reclaim a part of myself I felt had been lost.

Duncan, Olive, Winnie, Pip and I had hunkered down on the couch, pulling the blinds, turning on the AC, trying our best to avoid the heat which raged outside. It was a bright day, hot and dry. The dew had burned off the grass early and I didn't really want to go outside, but after Duncan, sprawled beside me, sighed with boredom and turned to rest his chin on my hip––unsettling poor Winnie, who only barely tolerates him––I decided we needed to try something new. A walk through the park just wouldn't cut it, so before I knew quite what I was doing, I'd started packing water bottles and doggy bags, sunscreen and everything else we'd need for a nice afternoon walk in the mountains. It was time for a little Mountain Therapy.


Moments after making the decision, we were in my car and on the road to Chautauaqua Park in Boulder. I've been there several times, once to see my friend Marc graduate from Naropa, once with Rick on a day when the mountainside was taken over by a mother bear and her two cubs, and once two years ago when Traci had paid me a visit. We had taken Duncan and attempted to climb the trail to the Royal Arch, but Traci is an asthmatic from Chicago (elevation 500 feet) and I was a smoker and the trail was a lot more strenuous than we'd anticipated for a leisurely Autumn walk. We made it halfway, which was a good place to turn around, especially since neither of us was serious about the climb. We simply wanted to be outside where the air was crisp and smelled of pine.


Yesterday was much warmer, which made the shade that much sweeter. The climb through the meadow to the base of the Flatirons was tough in the heavy sunlight, but once we reached the treeline and began the ascent, the air cooled and the breeze coming down the canyons was sweet and gentle. The rocks and eroded trail, however, were not, and as the switchbacks became steeper and more frequent my anxiety began to increase. I poured Duncan water into his fold-up travel bowl and took sips from the bottle, watching as our supply began to dwindle. Halfway up my inner conversation amped up and I began to doubt we'd make it at all. I know my limits––have become well acquainted with them over the course of the past four years--and took no shame in the thought of turning back. But we didn't. We pressed on, taking frequent breaks to rest against the sides of enormous boulders and listen to the silence of the mountains, the call of the hawks and the scurrying of the chipmunks playing tag in the wild berry bushes along the edge of the trail. People often passed us, but once we resumed our march we'd pass them as they rested in their own spots.


It was grueling and at times frightening. As the doubt and panic increased I started worrying not about reaching the goal, but the return hike and the subsequent drive back to Denver in heavy afternoon traffic. Each step up that occasionally nearly-vertical trail became more and more difficult. I began to judge myself based on the ease with which our fellow hikers marched along unaware of the difficulty I was facing, not just physically, but emotionally as well. Their mountain was not my mountain. We were on two completely different journeys, two different paths.


And then, after nearly two hours of marching up steep canyons and back down through winding valleys, we neared the end. The blood was pumping in my ears. The back of my neck was constricted and ached. My heart raced in my chest. Duncan was panting and kept looking at me questioningly, as though unsure of my safety. But we marched on, a small group of people in front of us and a couple out for a leisurely afternoon behind us. Dizzy and on the verge of utter panic, my despair and self-loathing at their peak, I collapsed on a rock and sat taking huge gulps of air as a million thoughts raced through my mind: Why had I done this? Why had I done it alone? Why had I left the cell phone in the car? Why had I not brought more water? Who did I think I was that I could accomplish something like this? Who would help us if something happened? What would happen to Duncan if I was carried down the mountain a raving lunatic?

I shook my head and heard that part of my brain I know too well rise up and speak to me. You don't have to go on. You can turn around. It's not a big deal.

And then, as if in answer, the woman in front of us, the self-proclaimed leader of her group, turned back and saw me. She hopped down a few rock outcroppings toward us and yelled at me. "Come on, man. Get up. You can do it. You've only got three minutes and you're there."

I felt my body collapsing inside itself and shook my head again. "I don't have three minutes in me," I gasped.

She came closer. "Turn around," she yelled at me. "Turn around and look. You're there! Forty-five seconds! Get up now!"

I looked over my shoulder and saw it, the Royal Arch, an enormous stone bridge crossing from one side of the trail over the other. I could not calm myself enough to think, so Duncan, sitting at my feet, panting and watching me, thought for me. His leash was around my wrist and curled tightly in my hand. He jumped to his feet and scrambled up the last few boulders, his feet nimbly catching on each rock and propelling him forward. I had no choice but to follow. I stumbled after him, leaving the water bottle where I'd been sitting. I crawled on all fours up the boulders under the arch, and then suddenly we were at the top looking out on forever. And with my good dog, my amazing best friend at my side, everything stopped as I caught my breath and let it all go.


There we stood at the top of the mountain, the city of Boulder spread out before us, and Denver beyond that, and an eternity of green plains vanishing into a horizon I suspect was Kansas and Nebraska. The silence was loud and unmistakable, even over the soft conversation of the others who'd gathered to sit and marvel at the size of the world. Duncan perched on a rock and licked my calf as I scratched the top of his head and felt my chest fill with air and relief.

While the others whispered and looked out on their well-earned reward, I sat with Duncan and hugged him, actually teared up as I pressed my face into his chest and whispered over and over again, thank you, thank you, thank you. Once again, Duncan had known me better than I knew myself, had faith in me where I had none, had literally dragged me to my own salvation. My climb meant something different––not more or less––than the climb the others had made. I hadn't conquered the trail or the mountain, I'd beat my fear, which has been great and terrible but now seems a little more transparent, something not quite so permanent.


Eventually I was able to compose myself and made small talk with the others gathered beneath the arch. I took a picture of the couple who'd followed us up and promised to email it to them. The man, Jim, gave me his email address, which he was sure I would forget, but have not. That moment is sealed in my memory, every part of it––the shaking of my legs, the burning of my lungs, the sound of the air at that altitude, the colors of the world. They will be a part of my body forever. That climb is now built into me, a piece of my fabric, something which can never be undone.


After a good long while we began our descent, Duncan leading the way sniffing for chipmunks while I smiled into the sunshine. I repeated the stranger's email address like a mantra and before I knew it we found ourselves back in the broad meadow at the base of the Flatirons, the ache gone from my legs and my spirit a thousand pounds lighter. A storm was gathering over the mountains but the thunder, gray and heavy, and echoing off the rocks, sounded like triumph and glory in my ears. I was practically dancing by the time we reached the car, where Duncan and I shared a bottle of water as the first small, hot raindrops spattered against the asphalt and our skin. The earth smelled, like grass and late Spring and I could not contain the emotion inside me.

I am getting better, one small but significant step at a time.

There are much worse things than anxiety in this world, like the loss of loved ones to terrible diseases, or unjustifiable wars, poverty and hatred. My story isn't much, but I'm glad it's mine. Getting sick and then getting better has taught me that no task is too small, that everything has significance and worth, that the destination, however beautiful and rewarding is not nearly as remarkable as the journey.

And that there is nothing--nothing!--better than traveling through this life with a good friend at your side.

This Day

On this day, this most important day, the day I have written about and studied and spoken with countless people about for months and months, the day I have argued over and dreamt about, made myself sick over, this day when I really honestly feel as though this country is on the cusp of monumental change, as though things are finally and blessedly about to shift from darkness back into light, I have to stop and give thanks to my dear friend, David. Without his patience and knowledge, without his outrage at the state of our decrepit health care system, his indignation at the treatment of our fellow citizens, without his guidance, I may have spent this election cycle attentive but inactive, concerned but woefully uneducated.

David is a remarkable man and there is much I--and to some degree each of you--owe to him. He is passionate and dedicated, loyal beyond words, and at times, when I have been unsure of myself and the direction of my life, David has been there as only a few others have. Despite the neglect and ignorance which have guided this country for the past eight years, David's belief in its potential is staggering and inspiring. His heart is the heart of a poet, for not only does he see things as they are, but he is able to look beyond them and see what we can be. We have spent innumerable hours over the past year agonizing about this day, this one day when the eyes of the rest of the world are on America, watching and waiting for us to finally, at last, make the right decision. His emails have encouraged me, enlightened me, frightened me, and finally ignited a fire in me that would not go out until I had used what little voice I have to speak up for what is right. It is because of David that I have used this place to rail against the dangerous arrogance which currently controls our government and the ignorance which threatens it again. Because of David I have attended rallies. I have walked the streets handing out leaflets, knocked on doors asking for support. I have spoken with friends who only a few weeks ago seemed beyond reach but have come to realize this country deserves more, deserves better.

In a letter I recently received from him, in an envelope scrawled with his familiar and much-loved handwriting, a single sprig of lavender folded between the pages, as he has done since I moved away from Illinois and the kindly Shire-like folk there, the very people who have given us Barack Obama, David wrote:

This election has inflamed the best and the worst of this nation. We will, each of us, vote according to our character and collectively define the character of the Unites States. The election booth will become a sort of civic confessional in which we exercise our faith in this country. I vote tomorrow. I have waited a long time, and it will feel good to finally have my say.

On this day, this morning when here in Denver the sun is out and the sky is blue, when anything and everything seem possible, I ask you to vote according to your character. I ask you to be brave and look not at the past, but to the future. I ask you to put the last eight years behind us finally and forever and to take a deep breath before we begin the much needed healing of this nation. I ask you to raise your voice and change the world.

*The banner at the top of this post was designed by my friend Kelly, who created it on her blog, Property of Kelly. Not only is she one of my most favorite people, but she's a talented artist and designer.

Politics Monday: Conservatives for Obama

Many of the people I know will freely admit they vote Republican simply because that's what their parents and grandparents have always done. While I understand it I can't help but feel it's the lazy and ignorant way out and requires no thought whatsoever. Many of the Republicans I know don't realize they're actually moderate Democrats who just can't seem to get their acts together. For instance, several friends believe that health care is a right, not a privilege. They also believe that we all deserve the opportunity to improve our lives through education, while also recognizing that we don't all have the same background and financial ability to do so. They believe that gay people deserve the right to love whomever they choose and share in the same rights and benefits offered straight people. They adamantly believe in a woman's right to choose. I've tried speaking to them and while several have stopped and seriously considered what I've had to say (the military friend I wrote about last week admitted recently that he'll most likely vote for Obama), others choose to remain steadfastly ignorant of their own political leanings.

This video is for them. They know who they are. If you know of people who are afraid to come out and turn their back on the old way of doing things, please forward the video to them as well. Share it in any way you can. Post it on your own blog, Facebook or Myspace page. Get the message out to those people who are simply afraid to break with family tradition. Their votes could make all the difference. We only have 8 days left. There is not a moment to lose!

Obama Sunday

I was a part of something today which was enormous and important and which could potentially change the entire world. You may have heard that Barack Obama spent Sunday morning in downtown Denver speaking to a crowd of well over 100,000 people, which included Melissa and myself (watch part of it here).



It was an exhilarating experience, one I hope never to forget. I cannot tell you how amazing it felt to be a part of something so big with so many other people who recognize that this country is in dire need of change in a positive direction. They were people of all types and colors, economic brackets and classes.


The volunteers, who numbered in the thousands, handed out fliers, sold buttons and shirts, bumper stickers, recruited even more volunteers and shared their message of hope. I have never been in such a large crowd with so many considerate people; everyone wished us a good morning, thanked us for coming out, wished us well as we left. It was electric and there were times when I listened to Barack speak that tears actually came to my eyes. I felt I was part of history, that this day and this election was a one I could look back on and be proud of. I felt part of a community which wants nothing more than to help this country and her citizenry realize its full potential.


I can not urge you enough to vote early, to tell your friends and family to do the same, to speak with everyone you know about why Barack Obama is the best candidate for the future of this country. This afternoon I signed up to go canvassing door to door, which makes me proud and helps me feel like I've earned the right to see this man made president of the United States. Do all you can do. Don't just sit there, get involved!

"Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time.

We are the ones we've been waiting for. We are the change that we seek."
(Barack Obama)

*The last photo was borrowed from The Huffington Post

Politics Monday: Experience

I was talking with a good friend this morning, someone I admire and genuinely love, but with whom I rarely discuss politics. He's an Iraq war veteran and although I'm opposed to the war it would not be respectful of his service and the sacrifices he's made to argue my opinions with him. He left his home and family to fight for something he very much believes in and I am in awe of his duty. I sat at home, watched the war on television or read about it, debated it from the safety of my living room or on the phone with friends while he was actually there, unable to turn it off, put it down or hang up on it. And although we have differing opinions he knows how high my esteem is for him and how grateful I am for the decisions he's made.

One night last Summer, sitting on his patio sipping a beer and listening to the crickets hum in the rose bushes in his backyard, we engaged in one of our few, brief political discussions. He told me the reason he could not vote for Barack Obama was that he lacked experience. It was an argument I'd heard many times before and the only response I had was to say that George W. Bush didn't have any experience either and that he'd been so cavalier about his time with the Texas Air National Guard that to this day we're not sure whether he ever fulfilled his duties there. But, I pointed out, Obama is a man who will surround himself with other educated and experienced people, that he would not be brash and arrogant in his decision making.

This morning on the way to work I mentioned that Colin Powell had finally endorsed Obama on Meet the Press. The news caught him by surprise and for a moment I think he believed I was mistaken. He made me repeat the name. Yes, I told him. That Colin Powell. The General. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The Secretary of State.

He was shocked but asked questions, wanted to know more about what Powell had said. I explained that he disagreed with the GOP's direction, did not have faith in McCain's economic strategy and doubted his choice in running mates. I also mentioned that several weeks ago General Patraeus had discussed the strategy in Afghanistan and without endorsing him, clearly stated an opinion that more closely resembled that of Barack Obama's than it did Senator McCain's. My friend realized that in one fell swoop, Powell's endorsement and Patraeus' strategy had effectively destroyed the "no experience" argument.

I have no idea whether my friend will vote for Obama; that's not the point. The point is that because I was informed and had not given up on the election in these last crucial weeks, I was able to make him pause and think. I did not expect to have the conversation and I certainly didn't think there was anything I could say that would change his mind, but he admitted he had some studying to do, and that's all I could hope for. And I hope that each of you, no matter where you are or how many political commercials are bombarding you (I live in Colorado, and believe me, all I see are political commercials!), you will take these words to heart. We are too close to think we have it in the bag. Now, more than ever, we have to fight, harder than we have over the course of the past several months. We have to fight for the uninsured, for the veterans and the soldiers still serving, for the poor and disenfranchised. We can not make the same mistake we made four years ago. We owe it to them. Research, read all you can, take the videos off this blog and send them to everyone you know. Urge them to forward them along. If you have a blog you must use your voice, no matter how small or how off-topic you think it is, to speak up for what you know is right. I challenge you to get involved in whatever way you can. With two weeks remaining, every moment counts!

LATE BREAKING NEWS (10/21/08 6 AM): Word has just come out that in addition to Michigan, the McCain campaign may be giving up on Colorado, big news for a state that twice went red. See, the little people can make a difference! Get out there and do something in your state!

Political Monday: Character

My friend Ruth and I were discussing the election tonight and I mentioned that this election is unlike any I have experienced in the nearly twenty years I've participated in the political process. It seems that since 1988, when I was two months shy of being allowed to vote, most of the elections have been centered on hot-button social issues such as abortion or gay rights (being allowed into the military or granted the right to marry), or universal health care, but that this election is about America's place in the world, as both an economic and democratic leader. This election is about restoring the principles which made this country great and repairing the tremendous damages by a single dangerously ignorant administration. I feel so strongly about this country's future because I have never felt quite so patriotic and wanted so badly to believe in the truth of the American Dream. I want to see our flag and nation restored in the eyes of a world which once looked to us for guidance. I firmly believe that this is the most important election of my life and that only one man has the values and character to guide us out of the quagmire that George Bush has left us in.

John McCain has waged an erratic and divisive campaign and it is clear by the lies and deceit he's perpetuated in his ads, his handling of the economic crisis and the hateful and dangerous rhetoric he and his pit bull lobbed against Barack Obama last week, that he has little sense of direction and is a volatile and unsafe candidate. The character of the man now is an indication of the character of the man in office. Barack Obama has kept his campaign focused on the issues which are of concern to the American public. He has not used smear tactics and has remained presidential throughout much of the turmoil that has engulfed this country over the past several weeks. I want a community organizer to lead us into the future, a man who knows how to teach others to lead themselves, not a maverick who shows little respect for the greater need of the majority of our citizens. I want a man who is clear-headed and calm, who surrounds himself with a group of advisers who are experienced and intelligent rather than cronies and lobbyists. The country has never needed change as terribly as we need it now. Please speak with your friends and family about the issues that matter most to you. Use your voice, be it in a telephone call or an email or on your own blog, as a force for change. Volunteer in any way you can, if that means canvassing your neighborhood or offering to drive voters to the polls on the 4th. Any effort is better than remaining silent. Silence will not change the world but strangle it.

Be sure to watch the third and final presidential debate on Wednesday, October 15th! Host a party, attend one, talk about with everyone you know.

Political Monday: McCain's Judgment and Values

"The current economic crisis demands that we understand John McCain's attitudes about economic oversight and corporate influence in federal regulation. Nothing illustrates the danger of his approach more clearly than his central role in the savings and loan scandal of the late '80s and early '90s.

John McCain was accused of improperly aiding his political patron, Charles Keating, chairman of the Lincoln Savings and Loan Association. The bipartisan Senate Ethics Committee launched investigations and formally reprimanded Senator McCain for his role in the scandal -- the first such Senator to receive a major party nomination for president.

At the heart of the scandal was Keating's Lincoln Savings and Loan Association, which took advantage of deregulation in the 1980s to make risky investments with its depositors' money. McCain intervened on behalf of Charles Keating with federal regulators tasked with preventing banking fraud, and championed legislation to delay regulation of the savings and loan industry––actions that allowed Keating to continue his fraud at an incredible cost to taxpayers.

When the savings and loan industry collapsed, Keating's failed company put taxpayers on the hook for $3.4 billion and more than 20,000 Americans lost their savings. John McCain was reprimanded by the bipartisan Senate Ethics Committee, but the ultimate cost of the crisis to American taxpayers reached more than $120 billion.

The Keating scandal is eerily similar to today's credit crisis, where a lack of regulation and cozy relationships between the financial industry and Congress has allowed banks to make risky loans and profit by bending the rules. And in both cases, John McCain's judgment and values have placed him on the wrong side of history." (as quoted from www.KeatingEconomics.com)

It may be a bit long and technical but it's crucial that we understand exactly where John McCain's allegiances lie: with the rich and with the corrupt institutions which continually profit off the hard work of American citizens. He does not support the middle class and does not have your best interests at heart. History has proven that. Twice. Please take the time to watch the video, read on your own and pass this information along to everyone you know. You owe it to your country. Be a patriot and stand up for what you know is right. Vote Barack Obama on November 4th.

Political Monday: The Truth

It's become quite obvious (even to ABC News, who couldn't find the news if it ran over them with a Mack truck) especially over the course of the past week, that John McCain is either a) completely off his rocker and has no idea what's going on; or b) a self-serving liar who's in bed with big oil, big Washington lobbyists and the men who've held our country hostage for the past eight years. First he claimed the fundamentals of the economy were just fine, then he got all fired up and demanded greater governmental regulation, the very thing he's spent his entire career in the senate arguing against. Just last week one of his most trusted economic advisers (and former CEO of Hewlett-Packard) went on MSNBC and claimed that not only could Sarah Palin not manage a large corporation, but neither could John McCain. John McCain has been all over the map lately, so much so that many of his own supporters, including evangelical leaders, are calling him unprincipled as they turn against him. He's continually lied about Barack Obama in his campaign ads, so much so that even Karl Rove jumped in and said the senator had gone too far. He even appeared confused as to where Spain was and whether or not the Spanish are our allies (they are!). The last week has not been kind to John McCain but we must remember the last eight years have been far worse for many Americans (who lack health care, educational opportunities, jobs, homes and retirement). McCain is finally revealing how little he knows, how ill-prepared he and his running mate are to lead us, and how ready Americans are for change.



Please, now, more than ever, we must all educate ourselves and act, not for personal benefit, but for the benefit of our children and grandchildren, the sick, the forgotten, those who are less fortunate. John McCain is the wrong choice. We all know it, even they know it, and even though it's easy to let fear dissuade us, we must hold firm, we must reach out and offer guidance, set an example, we must not be afraid. Barack Obama can not win this election alone. We must all work together to win it. Speak with others, offer them sources of information. If they talk about taxes, show them this link and explain how 95% of Americans will save money under Obama's tax plan. Do not sit idly by. Voting is your civic duty, but becoming an informed voter is an ethical one. Please share everything here and on trusted news sources (such as NPR) with your friends, family and neighbors, especially those who don't share your beliefs. They are the ones we need to reach. More than ever they need to understand the truth.

Summer's Silhouette

On this night, the night Summerset has ended––the tents folded up, the wares placed back in their careful packaging and the crowds dispersed––Summer really does seem to have gone. It rained for two days straight, clearing up yesterday, enough to appease the crowds and vendors, but turned cold again for much of today. Duncan and I have avoided the park; it's too much to see the litter everywhere, our precious fields reduced to parking lots and lanes. But this afternoon, as they were tearing things down, we wandered across the street if only to visit the Colorado Democrats booth and see if perhaps they had some Obama signs left over. They were quite happy to report that they had none, that, in fact, there wasn't a single sign to be had in the entire state. More should arrive on Tuesday at a town hall meeting so hopefully I'll be able to grab one. Afterward we wandered the park, Duncan's eyes and nose aimed at the ground where he sniffed for remnants of corn dogs, turkey legs and funnel cake. The sky seemed far away as an enormous hawk cut across it, riding the air from the golf course to the park and back again, its wings spread out, hardly moving, its eyes seeing more in the end of the summer than my fellow groundlings. My eyes, though, were trained on the trees, especially the elms, which almost look like they had not even experienced the green of summer. Their leaves have withered already and the branches, which only a few weeks ago were dense and heavy, are now bony and bare. Most of the leaves that have already fallen had been carted away for the weekend's festivities, but a single gold one alighted near my foot and came to rest against a curling dandelion, papery and as transparent as Summer's silhouette can be, perhaps the sign the hawk had been seeking.


My heart breaks every year at the passing of Summer, but tonight, as I prepared a heaping pot of chili, I kept the patio doors open to allow the air inside while Duncan curled up with Bugsy on the cool cement, his nose still turned toward the now empty field across the street. While I chopped and cut and mixed and sipped from the spiced rum which I dribbled into the pot, the slap of a baseball striking a bat rang loud and true, followed by the frenzied cries of the team and spectators. It was a welcome sound, a song of summer, and seemed to drive back my autumn melancholy a bit. Summer is not gone. Not yet, not as long as the lights on the field slice the night and I can hear the game, as long as there is a dandelion left to cast a shadow.