Winter in the desert of 2025

There's a chill in the air

I could be wrong but-

I can feel the chill in the air. Authoritarian Autumn is coming to America. It’s the season when leaves and hopes for democracy fall with comedians falling like leaves, their voices silenced in the winter of the President’s discontent. I can feel the cold wind on my neck, the headsman’s chilled axe sharpened for the Court Jester who Himthinks doth jest too much.

This winter’s air wafts a hint of fear, fear for the harsh dark fascist winter to come. The anchor dark clouds on the horizon.

I could be wrong but-

I can feel winter’s breath in the stares of my fellow strangers. We are all strangers now in his world of them versus us, and us versus them, his virus has won, our nation is lost to the eternal winter of march into Fascism like leaves windswept into history’s perfect storm, his challengers fall against the approaching cold darkness of his winter dictatorship like mere snowflakes.

I look forward to December’s millions of stars.

To January’s fireplace burnt Mesquite chimney smoke.

November’s aromas of Christmas Tamales.

Who knows what October will bring.

I could be wrong but-

I can feel the cold nights of the all-American black lists and brown shirts coming. I fear the Valley Forge winter coming our way. A season that will drive us together or drive us apart. A winter to test our resolve and ingenuity. I feel it in my tired bones.

He denies a warming world with an dull icy stare, lords, loots, lies and by February he will have pillaged and plundered us into an economic ice storm where we’ll be caught like the Shackleton, a broken banana republic in the frozen recessional wasteland of his making. By Spring he will have gone stark raving mad and we will still be fretting and powerless and wringing our hands wondering what’s next.

I could be wrong.