At the moment

The branches of the big willow look like weird fingers reaching through the heavy fog toward my office window. I can hear my granddaughter gently cooing as she sits in the swing downstairs. I wait patiently for answers to a couple of emails. I think about the oatmeal scotchies in the container in the kitchen, but willpower keeps me from sneaking one. I wonder, is there nothing that can rid our politics of the plague of another Clinton? Or Bush? Listening to Hillary prevaricate about emails reminds me of just how slimy the Clinton years really were. I think my middle name should have been Eyore. We learned last evening my wife's niece has cancer. Bad things happen to very good people. The Cubs clock on my wall ticks, ticks, ticks.