Mood:
quizzicalTopic: "Power Surge"(9)
Frodo was unsettled by the message from an old friend, telling him that her son didn't think that the struggle for civil rights was "all that bad." Surely, there was no need for a brain surgeon or a rocket scientist to get involved in a debate that reflected ideological bigotry at the expense of human progress. It was the rumble of thunder in the distance that brought the Hobbit to a halt, and seemingly made him remember that he was supposed to be limping on gimpy knees.
It does not seem that long ago when there was no water in the Shire. Frodo was prevented from washing his motorcar or bringing relief to the scorched flora therein. Now, however, it rains every day, tornadoes cast a scythe across the plains, temperatures rise with the stock markets, and fall, similarly, without explanation. The only constant is the trembling of canine companions at the foot of Frodo, looking for him to bring a halt to the insanity. Frodo, alas, has no answers to questions so basic, and still it rains.
For many days Frodo dreamed of a time when multiple targets at the end of an open road would beckon to receive the Hobbits and their companions. When the great water dish in the sky grew too cold, the beaches would beckon, then a balance would be struck whenever the gardens of the Shire required Frodo's guiding hand. How foolish was the Hobbit, for none of honor can retreat from the libertarian and the reactionary who avoid the simplest of truths, in the name of money and/or power. Joseph McCarthy did not die, he was genetically re-tooled.
Frodo will do better. He will speak louder. He will send money. He will not suffer in silence listening to the prattle of those children who worship amid the flies on the head of a pig. Others should do the same.
