Summation . . . so the sun has surmised the night into day once again; the dew is on grass, the birds singing except for the barn swallows who never seem to touch a branch. The air cool before the heat of the day begins. And the summation of yesterday and the day before, the brief of years whose conclusions constantly appear has begun, again, for me. Such meditation is not a longing for what has been but a study of the fault lines in my life I cannot, dare not deny. The blues and hymns of my life start again -- no separation between them. Anymore than I can keep apart the right and wrong, the good and bad of my life. I think that's what the sun always rising is: what is it without the moon and night.