I have mentioned before, one of the première places for thoughts and topical discussion is Eternity Road. Today is no exception. “Indian Summer of a Civilization”, strikes to the heart. It doesn’t come across as a clarion call to arms, or even (though it does touch on this in a sense) a wake up call. I came away with the feeling, if there were bells to be heard, it was perhaps the tolling one might expect to hear after the death of a great ruler… king … emperor … queen. The ending of a great reign.
And so it is.
We are long past our American Summer, the span of time between the last great war, WWII, and the rise of the baby boomers, saw us at our apex. It might be argued, that our last chance of holding onto not only “American Exceptionalism”, (Not a bad thing at all, provided you are willing to back it up, otherwise you do nothing but mock those of preceding generations … generations which were quite capable of being exceptional.) but in re-uniting as a culture and a people, would have been seriously addressing who and what really attacked us on a bright September morning, a little over ten years ago, and then committing all our resources … men and machine … in reducing that treat to the ash bin of history. We did not, and have not, done so.
And so here we are.
Slouching headlong into our Indian Summer.
To admit Frans post brought about a case of (the) melancholy, might be a bit too strong, but not by much. It did illicit a response from me. And in a fit of emotional self-preservation, there was recollection of a different song. A song which was not written to be a signature song for a generation, but at least in my little world, certainly merits that status.
The “you” I will be seeing, are the memories of what this country was. Not only from the stories passed down from parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles, but those which were of my own making. Granted, I am on the wrong side of 55, the one plus to that is being able to recall what this country not only once stood for, but for what she and her people; American people, not some hyphenated pasteurized patriot, so prevalent today, could and did produce when tasked to do so.
At the end of the night … the bonfires of Indian Summer damped … are not what troubles me the most.
It is the Winter which follows.