Nope. It’s not what you think.

In case you haven’t noticed, i am not a happy camper when it comes to my choices for the next presidential election.

My sports teams have defined in the tank (except for the Vols: yes, Vandy stalwarts, there remains a warm spot in my heart for what used to be the magnificent orange jersies, white numerals, high-top cleats, and the single-wing  Vols, and when they are not playing the Commodores, i still root for them).

Our traditional annual trip to the “Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival” in Golden Gate Park with our close friends Alan, Maren, and Eleanor Hicks, and now their son Alan Jr. as well, this time with a preceding stop in Concord with Maureen’s wonderful family Stefanie, Eric, Stefan, and Naomi possibly including Ann Minolti, Nikki, Mark, and Markie Knighton, was called off by me, who made a household executive decision because Maureen has not been feeling well. She is on the road to recovery, but i did not wish her to be miserable traveling. i would rather she be miserable with me at home.

So i have been in a dark place.

Since we weren’t in Concord or on our way to San Francisco, i made an oft-made, seldom-carried out effort to get back in my definition of good shape. i woke my usual early and decided to do a run/walk from our house. It was even before first light.

i had climbed the initial hill and was up on the next road of this high desert mesa when i looked skyward to the southeast. Hanging low over the borderlands of Baja California was the waning crescent moon, a sliver of light cradling the darker orb. Directly above it was the morning bright Mercury, named after that wing-footed Greek god.

i would have taken a photo with my iPhone, but i would have had to stop my pitiable jog, and maneuver the phone out of its holster, and most importantly, lose the song i had playing on iTunes, BB King singing “How Blue Can You Get?” So there is no picture of the moon rocking Mars.

But there it was. In the dark before the dawn has not yet considered dawning. This old man in some semblance of himself shuffling toward what? Redemption? He, in his dark place, sure as hell didn’t know. Even BB King didn’t know, even though he had the right idea, and the old man is  staring Mars, the ancient myth, rocking on the legs of the waning crescent moon over Baja, in the face.

And in the quiet of the morning where the worlds collide, there was peace in the heavens.

Stick it in your ear, politicians, money-grabbers, power brokers.

i think the moon, Mars, and i are going to do just fine.