Yesterday a powerful cold front made a storm out of the last of Michigan's summer weather. In the evening, I went out for a beer and had to deflect another man’s frustrations. When at home, President Obama outlined the offensive initiatives with respect to ISIS. Drone attacks, beheadings, some wild west language that seemed to have been channeled up from Texas, and all the while categorized with the label of ‘counter-terror operation’ for the white house file cabinet, on the eve of another September 11 anniversary. And then woke up this morning to an explicit metaphor of howling wind and temperatures in the 40's. Thoughts brought me to Bolaño’s 2666– violent aggressions without beginnings or endings, only varying degrees of eruption from what already plainly exists on the surface of the every day. What is to be seen and not? On the requiem ground was a drop cloth of heavy dew for an early autumn, holes torn in the grass where a skunk dug up some grubs, a few mushrooms popped off to the side beneath the cedar. For the past week or two, geese have made their calls known while in flight for the migration in a changing season.