This Is The Title Of This One by Ty

It has been a long, hot summer filled with an assortment of events and stories that occupied the collective attention span for however long the medications lasted. So what? Aside from geology and weather, none of it was really important.

We are again standing at the precipice of another Field Mowing Day awaiting that first autumn memory. The clap of the starter's gun. Spirits and omens be damned, the ideas are loaded and we are all jumpy in the blocks.

This is the time of summer where it appear as if some, if not most, have just given up entirely. And despite brave protestations, they know we know the truths. One more domino falls. One less soldier of the fort. Bittersweetness. But we feel slightly empowered by it all.

We go back to our work because our work cannot produce itself. Not yet. The days only get shorter when more needs to be accomplished. "We are our own art history."

Dog meet pony. See you at the show.