“When the sage points to the moon, all that the idiot sees is the finger.” — An Eastern Saying

 

Well here it is: The end of the day … for now.

Mello is resting on one end of the couch straddling his head on his paws dozing, and Fred is on the couch napping behind me, and I’m wondering what to write about.

Earlier today I had to drive down to the Herald office and see if someone could fix what was going on with my computer and sure enough, a younger gentleman took about five minutes to straighten it out.

I didn’t bring Mello and Fred with me, but I think they would have enjoyed the visit to the Herald office where they are capable of landing a few words almost every Sunday.

Mello and Fred grew restless this particular afternoon. After wiping their muddy paws, I loaded them in the car and we headed for Bandshell area hoping it would not be under water.

Earlier today, after hunting one of the bookshelves, I found my used copy of Ground Fog and Night poems by Eugene J. McCarthy. One is titled, “My Lai Conversation.”

It reads: “How old are you, small Vietnamese boy? Six fingers. Six years. Why did you carry water to the wounded soldier, now dead? Your father. Your father was enemy of free world. You also now are enemy of free world. Who told you to carry water to your father? Your mother! Your mother is also enemy of free world. You go into ditch with your mother. American politician has said, ‘It is better to kill you as a boy in the elephant grass of Vietnam than to have to kill you as a man in the rye grass in the USA.’ You understand, it is easier to die where you know the names of the birds, the trees, and the grass than in a strange country. You will be number 128 in the body count for today. High body count will make the Commander-in-Chief of free world much encouraged. Good-bye, small six-year-old Vietnamese boy, enemy of free world.”