Everything above is gray; what’s below is green.

Everything is a fine scurrying about between permanent stillness.

It’s not the pretty day got me out the house, but the event.
This truly is a holy day.

Soon all the quaint homes with moss-green roofs will be gone.
But the moss only for a little while.

Language is meant to coordinate our solar batteries into some
action preserving us & our offspring. Read the rest of this entry »