Ballard Street by Jerry Van Amerongen for April 12, 2023

Seek the lightness yourself, Michael. It won’t find you on its own.

Oh, and remember: It’s always darkest before it’s completely black.

The neighbors await Mildred, she has gone to the pharmacy to get refills on Michael’s medications.

Wait’ll the lightness turns into the redness which then turns into the ouchiness.

Michael, at least you could replace your oxfords with sandals on this occasion.

If his shadow is real, it appears to be around local noon somewhere in the Tropics where Michael is.

In all walks of life, Michael has always cast a big shadow.

At least his shorts are well pressed … into a box shape.

Better to celebrate the lightness of being.

Good morning Balladeers.

Careful, Michael, you’ll get fried!

And THAT is why I do not wear shorts.

But right now, Michal feels boxed in….

It’s a fleeting moment Michael, pray it don’t happen when your bladder demands attention.

Michael is asleep…

“The Unbearable Lightness of Ballard Street”…

And Micheal is well prepared for the heaviness of an Arctic sun.

As an amateur inventor, Michael remains fascinated with his pop-out umbrella shorts.

As Michael reaches back, he realizes that the atomic wedgie he was given earlier may have done damage.

Apparently, spring is finally showing up at Ballard St.

Michael and the sun,

always together as one —

except on high noons,

on the dark side of his moons.

From the shadow being cast, it appears Michael has a tail.

Michael is a bit light in the head. Too much sun.