it's the same walk to the market, with variations of occurrence and what chooses or asks to be noticed, or what the mood of the morning invokes. 

birds are migrating and some birds migrations are ending on cold windows. these two sweet creatures i found laying at the base of the glass-clad power station. again, living next to the obamalandgrab denuded of trees, i think of the displaced birds and the eventual migrations that will end at his tower of power. 

was this sidewalk here before the station closed? it'll be replaced for the obamaland station. 

the moon stayed up til we got up.

the shadows on the wall look different too. 

withal the forces at play and the internal respondences, i'm becoming someone i hope to know.

the song we shall not be moved is more of an anthem than the national jingo, but we may very well be moved and i hope we're ready, and we may be repurposed if we stay, but i hope in the change we perdure. which sounds like endure with the lost, while some grand successors will achieve perdition.