Well, I havent written here for awhile, now, have I? My Lobolians, I apologize for the wait, but we all know what a fierce election cycle does to the hard working blogger. I have rested, and now I am back.

But without politics, what shall I meanderingly discuss here? How about I tell you about fish.

But no, not fish. Something other than fish.

See, this is the thing about blogging after elections. There is nothing quite fun enough to compare with the excitement of election blogs. Sure i can talk about how our economy is shit, and about to get flushed down the toilet by a bunch of liberals in congress, but everyone else talks about that, and unlike them, i am willing to admit that I do not know enough about economics to truly add to the discussions. So I shall refrain.

Arguably, this blog is rapidly becoming pointless. I better give it a point soon.

*sharpens sword*

Each winter we watch the Earth turn from the aged maturation of autumn to the whiteness of death. Like Moby Dick, the ground bleaches itself, turning exposed and white and wet. As humans, we watch this event with glee, call it winter, and grab our shovels and start shoveling. Those in less polar climes than I spend their days wishing they could shovel, because they do not know what it means to shovel, or express glee at the eternal snowfall, or relish the death of the Earth.

But as the Earth dies under the pure whiteness of snow, it continues to turn. As it continues to turn, that dead white shininess dies instead, and the snow turns to rivers of runoff, streaming along the streets, deprived of its natural grass, and makes things wet. In time, the world dries, the streets dry, and all scorches under the tender blaze of summer sunlight. The leaves sprout on the trees and enjoy the prime of their so short lives, before frying themselves golden, collapsing to the ground, and watching the world die again.

there. a point.

Good day to you, my Lobolians

Roman Wolf