School is back in session and Labor Day approaches, as headlines announce what we nervous cases see as the apocalypse. Summer is too long for me, emotionally. The bright promise of early summer fades and darkens by mid-August.

Twenty-five hundred years ago, the desolate people of the Hebrew Bible cried out to the prophet Jeremiah , “The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved,” and I could have written this yesterday. Those brave people, crying out their hopelessness, looking for direction and consolation. Me? Footage of the National Guard often sends me to my room with Mexican food, the latest issue of People magazine and my emotional support cat.

I too was hoping we’d have been saved by now, by a fiery yet pleasant orator who could lead this nation back to compassi

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