Who Knew the Golden Mean Was 42 North?

After a wonderful, leisurely,
ten-mile bike ride, they stopped
at a local micro-brew, chit-
chatted for awhile and drove

home with bikes on the back.
They stood on the balcony look-
ing at the pond and waterfall
and soaking in the sun as it

began to set over the Big Lake.
They sat and watched a travel
show on Brazil and then switch-
ed channels to see what was

happening in Florida as Irma
stormed through. So far, not
as bad as was predicted but
the storm surge is yet to be.

They thought about Arizona,
which is drying up and Florida,
which is drowning and global
warming, which, in time, will

dry up the West and submerge
the coasts, all while they wait
for the Sunday evening Master-
piece Theater productions, and

they give thanks for the middle,
Aristotle’s Golden Mean, even
if their toes get cold and numb
in the winter.

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