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December 24, 2002 a bridge with a view STARDATE 122302: I swivel in the leather captain's chair like Kirk on the bridge.  Fall comes late in this part of the galaxy, winter even later.  This planet's sun is setting and I watch its retreat through the large  window that allows a view of the park from my writing area. The Drake elm has lost all but a few leaves.  Those still clinging are like house guests who haven't figured out the party's over.  Leaves should know when to.  Beyond the tired elm, a mutant oak stands near the walking path.  Its orange and red leaves glow like afterburners at the nearby petrochemical plant. There are reports of a Brown Dwarf in this sector.  Or maybe it was a Red Giant.  I am alert for Chicano midgets and for Chinese defectors to the NBA. There is a radio on the bridge.  I press the FM button on the instrument panel.  Solar flares have warped the signal and I can just make out strains of Mac Davis singing "Baby, baby, don't get hooked on me...."  I recall his hokey television show, his sad Caucasian Afro, and his truly objectionable mug and I think, "Mac, it is highly unlikely she will."

©  2002 by the beastmaster