As I watched the first few minutes of the debate (because I couldn’t endure more than a few minutes), it occurred to me that the expression I saw on our President seemed disturbingly familiar; and the second I had this realization, I knew it was because I had many times over the past few years observed a similar expression — a kind of belligerent confusion, mouth slightly agape — on my father, who died in February after a long fight with dementia. It’s not only the expression; it’s also the shuffling walk, the slight slurring of words (that has nothing to do with a stutter), the trailing off of sentences into nothing. Whether or not Joe Biden is technically suffering from dementia, anyone can see that he’s reached a stage of mental incapacity where he needs to retreat to the comfort of the most expensive healthcare that money can buy; where he is no longer running a small country, let alone the United States.
How did we get here, I asked myself, referring to so many things.
It was unbearably hot, but at least the annuals were flowering.
And so was the clematis, which had listened to our entreaties to climb into the light, despite being planted in a rather shady spot.
But nobody could deny that spring was over. The garden seemed overgrown and resentful.
“Come join us,” the trees whispered, “as we tremble in the heat.”
