Aching Limbs

Clover still grows during this…the first hard frost.

I have always envied this walk…to clear the air.

Drudgery and all its beauty strewn about in wild fanfare.

The perpetual futility of earth’s aching limbs.

A healthy canvas for the unknowing eye, is all one will see.

Progress and perfection…languishing in antiquity.

When Worlds Collide

the Beatles

Tell me true,

what is it that you feel?

Does a passerby…shower hurt your sense and sensibility?

Do the clouds above pad your nobility?

What a different world…when walking into someone else’s words.

Some spend a natural lifetime looking for answers.

Lifting every immobile boulder.

Each knowing in the precious present…what we get is older.

In the heart and the head.

In the lily and the pond.

In the here and beyond.

Photos for Fodder

In the end, it’s fear, greed and stupidity that will destroy us. -Jeffrey A. White
Environment is no one’s property to destroy; it’s everyone’s responsibility to protect. -Mohith Agadi

It’s no secret that climate change will dramatically alter the landscape. As the planet warms, forests will creep north, and vegetation will grow in places like the once-frozen tundra. When that happens, species that were confined to southerly habitats will move north, too, where they will encounter similar species, and then there will be romance.

Actually, this is already happening. In New England, an up-and-comer hybrid called the Eastern coyote is thriving. According to the New York Times, Eastern coyotes (also called “coywolves”) are only about two-thirds coyote — one-fourth of their lineage comes from wolves, and the rest is dog. The resulting animal is around 40 percent larger than a regular coyote, hunts in packs, and is better adapted to killing New England deer.

Are Coywolves Dangerous? You bet your sweet ass!

Read More: https://www.grunge.com/128624/really-bizarre-climate-change-side-effects/?utm_campaign=clip

Sleepy Eye’d Possum

Wake me from this revolting riddle

My island…tartan from the toil

Every moment in slumber…I am submerged on faraway soil

Outings of yesteryear, swirl and wane from folly’s foil

Though I stack cords of oak to guard against my enemies

I fear tomorrow it will topple and the pond shall boil

Had I not known Friendly Strangers when young.

My reduced everything would have remained under constraint of younger guns

Now, only another Castaway…

Friendly Stranger wake me with your beat…

a distant and different kind of drum