I’ve lived long enough on this beautiful blue dot to clearly understand how Donald J. Trump sees the world. It isn’t hard. I think most of us by the age of six or seven years old have seen a version of Don the Con, either in a sandlot, or a schoolyard or some other neighbourhood situation on a micro-scale that occurred to them or in front of them on a sand lot or baseball field of their home town.
We’ve all lived it. The difference in this instance is that it may well lead America so far off the beaten track of democracy, that there won’t be enough ‘crumbs left in the woods’ for America to find its way back.
Not to take an allegory or apologue too far, but to give you a clear analogy of a real-life situation I witnessed near a beautiful mountain Creek that runs just a quarter mile from my front door.
It occurred between two obviously competitive and willfully combative crows, on the bank of a little creek.
As I’m want to do on warm sunny days in the valleys of remote or mostly uninhabited ravines here in Southern British Columbia, I was walking along the riverbank on the day, looking for unique spots to catalogue for the ‘atmospheric’ pictures that I love taking.
As I was looking at a set of burbling rapids, steam coming off the creek, and the incredible North Shore Mountains behind them, I noticed two crows, apparently fighting over an object they had found.
The light filtering through the trees, would catch the object as they pulled it in opposite directions, giving a sharp glint of shimmering light.
This went on for several minutes, when I hear one of the crows let out a sound that to me was atypical of crows.
It was the sound of ‘sudden pain’.
I walked down off the river stone towards the edge of the creek and saw one crow sitting, looking intently at another crow, as if concerned.
On his leg, a fishing lure, was obviously stuck in to his feathered leg. I was hoping to get close enough to possibly remove it, when the two flapped their wings and took to the air. I watched as they, unfortunately, flew out of sight.
Tonight, I was reflecting on my hope that the crow had found a way to dislodge the ‘shiny casting spoon’.
I came home and turned on the news and was watching when a political commentator, talking about Donald J. Trump stated;
“Trump will likely find some way of extricating himself from Iran, and move on to the next ‘shiny object’ that catches his eye.”
Indeed. As the opportunist and bird-brained (my apology to all, by comparison, highly intelligent birds) individual he is, he may well do just that. And Americans will breathe another sigh of relief and go back to countering his next asinine and childish knee-jerk response, like all arrogant but untested bullies do in the sandbox of life.
My hope is that unlike the poor crow, impaled by the fishing lure, — that Trump, with his hubris, his arrogance, his ignorance of what may come, will be mortally impaled by the the ‘shiny bright objects’ that he chose to attack Iran for in order to steal.
With any luck, the wounds will be truly mortal, and Don the King of Hubris will be no more.
If that involves a virus, a bacteria, sepsis and hopefully, ungodly pain, — so be it. The man is an ungodly, sociopathic child rapist and mass murderer.
And so, hopefully, as spring blossoms, the apologue and allegory of the very greedy shit bird and the shiny ‘deadly’ object comes to life and fruition.
Leave a Reply