Month 8.
Saturday, August 1st, 2020
It’s a quiet Saturday, give or take a dirt bike dad sputtering up the road with a dirt bike kid in tow. The lake isn’t awash in jet skis, and the orbiting birds have settled on muted background tones. Inside, the ceiling fan and the floor fan are generating just about the right level of white noise.
The kind of cacophony you would expect from the Twitterverse is still there, if you’re compelled to mash the button that summons it up onto a nearby screen. I’m sure it’s a loud bemoaning of Trump’s mismanagement of all things and a noisy fretting over Biden’s choice of running mate and, well, the grinding sounds of lies beyond calculation.
But the thing is: if I don’t mash the button, it remains just kinda out there, like the very distant call of a loon.
And August thus begins more peacefully.
