The arc of this President’s moral grotesquery is long; let us pray that it bends toward justice, or if not justice toward power to the people who deserve it most and enjoy it least. Wind after rain, dark gray patches chasing light ones in the sky, and the surface of the lake roughs up like the fur of a cat rubbed backwards. A massy cloud due east of me like a formation of land, black mesa topped by white riders. They’re burying George Floyd today but his name will live on—I wrote “love on.” How soft the air is today.