Do not go gentle into that good night.

        Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

      

        The words of Dylan Thomas come to mind today as I walk through the     cemetery with its unimpeded views and socially distanced, unobtrusive     inhabitants.  The very old, the very young , the soldiers, the everyday     citizens - mothers, fathers, grandparents, great grandparents. The Asians, the Christians, the Muslims, the Jews, those without denominations but whose names reveal their ethnicities if not their religions.

         I see people sitting in the grass visiting . Others stroll through the gentle rolling hills, masked.  We wave or otherwise acknowledge our mutual, still living presence.

        Almost all the trees have either shed their leaves or no longer display their vibrant autumn yellows, reds, russets, burnt sienna. Winter is here, even though I am perspiring.

        Tomorrow is the solstice.  And according to astronomers and astrologers there is a profound Jupiter-Saturn great conjunction that has not been seen for 800 years.  Apparently we are  moving from the age of Pisces into the age of Aquarius.  I am certainly no expert in any of these fields, but it is obvious we are in a profound time of death and rebirth.  Nature tells us all we have to know, but so does the entire state of our planet.  Old forms are dying, old ways struggle mightily and forcefully to continue.  And nothing and noone, it seems, is going gently into that good night.

    Our orange haired monster together with his Dracula counsel are certainly neither modelling grace nor dignity.

     The virus that changed our world at the beginning of the year seems to be getting worse all over our planet. It has the better of us.

    On top of it all, the air quality here in the East Bay is not good. 

    Still, I enjoyed my walk. Still I am in close touch with family and friends.

    Still the sun rises and sets.

    Still I enjoy spectacular sunsets every single evening.