Life is but a dream

As the firelight danced in front of his eyes, the little boy snuggled closely to his mother, a soft smile crossing his tender little face. His mother smiled back at him and thought he had best be getting to bed, but he shook himself awake and looked at his mom questioningly.

Mother, what is wrong with black people? He asked, his eyes cocked with innocent confusion.

His mother was flustered and didn't know what to think. Of all the questions the boy had ever asked, this one confused her more than any.

Nothing. She said, with the firmness of a white midwesterner on race issues.

Then why did that man say Barack Obama was a terrorist and unamerican? They said he was black and an arab. What's wrong with Arabs?

His mother's eyes were wide and she barely knew what to say.

Is it wrong to be a black or an arab mother? The little boy asked, wondering why his mom refused to answer his questions. She'd always given him answers before, no matter what he asked. He was so confused.

No, of course not. She said quickly, stoking the campfire to hide her discomfort.

But then why did that man say those things?

The mother cringed to hear the question asked with such sweet tones. She couldn't bring herself to speak. Instead she let the flames shoot higher and higher towards the sky.

Lets sing a campfire song! She said, holding his hands and singing, row row row your boat, gently down the stream, merrily merrily merrily merrily, life is but a dream...

The little boy frowned but sang along, his light and happy voice carrying through the woods and ringing in the darkness.

....Life is but a dream...

The 2nd Annual Fall Issue

Greetings Lobolians

Last year around this time I regaled you all with a bit of mindless chatter about pumpkins. After all, theres only so much politicing I can fit into one blog. And I think, like the campfire boy, theres a great deal of import to be placed on the occasion piece of soft news.

This is the time of year that the Earth shifts its direction, so that the southern reaches are bathed in the fullness of Sol's light, and the northern ones take their turn in cold darkness.

In honor of this, as they do each year, the trees bow their heads and offer the ground their leaves. First, they transform them into the most brilliant colors. Oaks blow their greenery off in a burst of flame, the gentle green leaves transforming themselves into fiery reds, eye catching oranges, tender golds. The leaves are then shed from the branches, turning them brown and bare but bathing the roots in a show of glory such as they only know once a year.

When the trees have cast all their noble leaves from their arms, the Earth is ready for winter. Snow trickles from the sky, painlessly at first, melting once it touches the browning ground. But bit by bit the flakes freeze the leafy ground, transforming it into a white kaleidescope of drifts and sheets.

And so it goes for all those long months of winter. Eventually, however, the Earth changes her face again, giving the north back its sunlight. The snow retreats, the leaves regrow, and the green grass peaks out from beneath the frost-bitten brown.

:)

Have a nice day Lobolians.

Roman Wolf