The Ones that Got Away

This is a queer time.  What with an election campaign in the making and Republican candidates donning their finest Republican outfits, while Obama slips on something comfortably Democratic, you would think we were all headed for a big to do.  Instead, we find ourselves in a rather quiet period wherein the news is calming, perhaps even enchanting, but hardly exciting.

Manufacturing activity is reportedly on the upswing, and even car sales are looking positive for a change.  Well, they should.  The average American is currently piloting an eleven year old junker-in-the-making down the road as this is being written.

Obama has made some waves with recess appointments to vacant Labor Board positions, and a new consumer protection agency which was languishing without guidance. But as we all recall from school days, recess, however fun and free spirited it may be, soon ends.

We seem to be enjoying a short cook-out round the campfire put on by those workers and consumers who have for now eluded the bear, even as so many of their fellows were devoured.  But what comes next is the question left hanging.

Reminds one of something from Frost:

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.