When the water table rises above ground, as it has here in flooded Tillamook County,

And it continues to rain and bluster,

Puddles surround our beach home.

The water has no where to go, so it puddles.

Hold on a second, I’m searching my brain for a metaphor,

Actually I have the metaphor, I’m searching for some sage application for it,

Some scene or situation where this particular metaphor would illuminate the human condition?

Sadly, with the Republican debates so freshly on my mind, you’ll have to pardon me, but this is about to get political,

I’ll understand if suddenly you remember something or someone or somewhere that you need to respond to suddenly.


I guess that my disappointment stems from a lack of intelligent discourse,

I was embarrassed as an American that these men (and one woman) spoke as though they were puddles of the same water table.

Puddles in the sense that they were all standing on the same stage, saying the same thing, and interested in bombing Syrians, or at least the ‘terrorists’ of ISIS.

Puddles in the sense that soon they would dry up and disappear, evaporate in a metaphoric sense.

Puddles in the sense of lack of depth to their thinking, and empty of life.

Puddles as in wet feet gained when in there presence, such as discourages further argument, agreement, or action.

As puddles they only reflect the immediate vicinity and narrowly seek by any means to draw the voter into the mud with them.

Far enough? You get my drift? Does the analogy help you understand my great disappointment and patriotic embarrassment.

I left the Republican Party because Barry Goldwater ran for president,

And I see no reason among all those candidates to return.

Put on your rubbers, this is going to be a long, wet, campaign season.

Best wishes to you and yours.

– Small town boy


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