There is a melancholy that hovers and hangs about this place today. Like the drooping spanish moss that drapes like a lacy negligee from sturdy old oaks.

There is no reason for such gloominess, for life is good, and yet even the sky above lacks any vibrancy of color on this ho-hum November day. The sky is the color of the collective lint on a dryer screen.

Perhaps, I should peel away the lint. Then, will I be happy? Then, will the joy return?

Should I go read a good book or flip on the tube?

The new plasma tvs ...