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September 7, 2006

It's my favorite chair in Houston, in my favorite resturant, awaiting my favorite meal on their menu.  A lovely afternoon, a lovely day, seems summer is leaving early, leaving before beating us to bits, before we're worn to nothing, shattered and battered, crashed, smashed, trashed, bashed to bits by RA's rays, the very cloth of life faded down, easily torn, suspect and worn.  In other places, autumn is a time of harvest, gourds and pumpkins and stalked corn, chill nights and hot cider; in Texas it's a collective sigh, a collective survivors joy and release, respite from the daily burn.