A pretty morning view from the edge

And it’s on the edge we seem to be living now. Summer. And yet. Waiting. A purgatory. A twilight zone. Between the mad corrupt careless xenophobic faded bitter empire Johnson world. And a fading yet hopeful generous internationalist one, if only we had the energy to act. To rebel and choose. For ourselves. Just a little. Thirled still. Chained to the idiot’s ankle, falling off a cliff.