Good morning, Netizens...
A picture of Canadian Leonard Cohen, whom I met briefly back in the late 60's and a snip of what some say is one of his more beautiful songs:
Like a bird on the wire,
Like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.
Like a worm on a hook,
Like a knight from some old fashioned book
I have saved all my ribbons for thee.
Yes, I am delighted that it is Friday, despite the tasteless gray skies that incessantly are leaking snowflakes down on my head in my reverie this morning, for I know that temperatures more spring-like than today are just around the corner, that the various flowers in the Virtual Garden out back of the Virtual Ballroom are already experimentally poking their heads out of the soil.
Thus, sitting alone with my thoughts this morning, I have been contemplating the status of this blog, for it has changed and yet it remains so much like it was from the beginning, an unrepentant, often outrageous catechism of the ways Spokane could be made better. Yet, sitting alone, which is a real virtue when you consider the number of hours I have spent in the last three weeks talking with people about their needs. I feel so fortunate in that my real day job continues to grow stronger over the passage of time while so many others are hurting, but I feel utter remorse, deep within my innermost being, because this Blog, which I helped create, often has fallen by the wayside, put off in some cases until I can catch up with real work, and typically my attention span in these occasionally furtive forays into journalism are not nearly as good as I would like them to be.
Then, on days such as today, when time favors me with sufficient laxity to revisit this place, to hug my two granddaughters who (knowing as all granddaughters do) know my schedule, and sneak up the back stairs for competitive hugging when the day is still new, and my newfound friend August the Crow comes to the window to demand counsel, suddenly in this time the ribbons I have won are all for thee. For there are heroes in the seaweed and my children in the morning. Thank you, Mr. Cohen.