SOMEDAYS........

These days I feel like the wee fish in this photograph, know what I mean? Is the shark ready to eat, or just having some shark fun?

In my ocean my IRA is drastically depleted, investments I worked for diligently have lost value (ok I took those risks) however, taxes on them are not decreasing even when their value does,(explain that to me please.) I did the right thing, worked all of my life, paid my share, and now when things should begin to get easier, all of the effort was not enough. Amen.

So, I shall continue to work, do the right thing, and continue to be in the company of sharks, of that I am certain. Now I am not opposed to big fish living off smaller fish, (and vice versa), I love capitalism, but when the biggest fish becomes the only one in the ocean....then what???? I am trying not to have trepidation about the path we are on,(or ocean we are in), but Holy Toledo where is the common sense these days. One cannot bleed our small business' to death and expect everything to get better.
That is accounting 101....no?

AFTER APPLE PICKING by Robert Frost

"My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing dear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep."

To much apple picking of late, too much sleep, too much disconnection..........