Following fall . . .
Sunday, September 20, 2026. It's truly Sol's day . . . Fall officially begins Tuesday, the Autumnal Equinox … Today's forecasts indicate the transition begins today. TulseyTown and GreenCountry are to spend the day in much cooler conditions of those under the recent heat dome. Most of the day is to be spent in the mid-upper 80's with moderate Southerlies. The weatherfeather indicates a 40% chance for rain afternoon.
Today is the birthday of U.S. Poet Laureat, editor, and literary critic Donald Hall, born in 1928 Hamden, Connecticut.
Muckraking documentarian author Upton Sinclair was born on this day in 1878 Baltimore, Maryland.
Five Years, Today – Robert Reich, Sunday Thought.
Iran says it will not reopen the Strait of Hormuz until President Donald Trump and Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu are removed from power...and Trump is losing “it.” – Heather Cox Richardson, in Letters From An American.
Returning to The Sermon on the Mount. Where can we find a philosophy today that embraces the unconditional, nondiscriminatory love that includes our enemies? Within the “christian” tradition, only the Fransicans truly celebrate it, while others give lip-service. The “interspiritual traditions” as outlined by Fr. Rohr and Mirabi Starr individually and collectively have this same radical love at its core, as does the manifestation of Buddhist contemplation/meditation. Communities help. Solo practitioners are welcome. See you online. — Jus'sayin'
Dreaming of the Autumnal Equinox
–after Rilke and in memory of Thich Nhat Hanh
Sometimes songs seem to come from
the heat of the outside edge of the world.
Inheriting the coming autumn, the memories of poets
and all the Summers where images are gathered
are given back to that eternity. Songsters, poets
painters, sculptors live the enduring feminine alone
bringing suffering along with laughter, as do lovers:
those poets of one brief hour. We who create do so
in the name of the longing unnamable,
searching for the face we had before the one
we see in the mirror contradicting our intentions.
To them we give ourselves; blind, deaf and mute,
unable to supress the best of our things and thoughts
filling tearful eyes as we awake
in stranger's arms.
– jab