At a campaign rally in Georgia this weekend donnie had something on his mind.
So, naturally he blurted it to the adoring multitude.
“Our country is making hundreds of billions of dollars because of what’s happened in the Middle East, because they’re coming to Texas and they’re coming to Oklahoma and they’re coming to Louisiana and they’re taking that oil. My people say, ‘Please don’t mention that, sir, people are paying a little higher …’ I can just see the fake headlines: ‘President Trump is talking about all the money they’re making while people are suffering at the pump.’ But I said, ‘I don’t give a damn, I’m gonna say it: We’re making a frickin’ fortune.”
The adoring multitude roared its approval, red hats bobbing joyfully in the golden autumn Georgia sunshine.
A Monarch butterfly, apparently separated from his or her southern migrating flock gracefully glided back and forth wafted skyward by the sonic draft from the adoring multitude's hysteria.
Is any of this, what we call, normal?
Except the Monarch.
That's part of their normal autumn ritual.
I encountered one in the middle of Lake Lamier once on a similar October afternoon.
The butterfly was heading south.
I was getting ready to jump in the water and yell "hit it" as I indulged, probably for the last time that year in joyfully flying across the water on a slab of molded fiber glass topped with red, white and blue painted aluminum.
Those were understandable and simpler days.
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