I'm writing. And walking. I pace between thoughts. Up and down the driveway, I solicit the trees for their wisdom and the boulders for their discernment. They comply in a language we all speak, but rarely hear. Wisely indifferent, giving unconditionally and generously, they breezily offer, "Take or not, the onus is on you." Heavy.
The cover is four years old and needs replacing. New "bones" are already in the works. The next round of dry days will bring about the new cover. The plywood this chromebook sits on is billions of years in the making, understanding I desperately try to suckle as I hug the lid with symbiotic hope. Hope's not a strategy says something somewhere.
Tongue and groove pine becomes the new cover - an epoxy top and edging to water"proof" the lid. The rain, wet, heavy dew days have set it for the season...hanging around for several months. Dry days will be few and those will be very cold. Temporary the weather - like thoughts - coming and going - writing still takes place outside.
Gotta run. The cloud are calling. I wish all my thoughts were profound. Nature laughs, "Give it a rest already. Go do your chores, it's your turn to enteratain us." Off I go then, waving at the view.
DIO
Philosopher, Author, Artist, and no thing in particular. Beyond description. Completely unknown, yet totally familiar. Knows no thing and re-members every thing...same as you.
Sep 13, 2024
Regular Day
I'm standing at my makeshift outdoor desk - a mini "house" for built specifically for the table saw, providing unlimited room to rip and cut boards outside of the shop - keeping the shop clean-er. Honestly, no one could ever build a shop big enough to house the room needed to cut lumber. Even a mill keeps its saw outside. So instead of building a shop big enough to accomodate the space required to cut unspecified lengths and widths of lumber, I poured a little concrete slab and built a little house for the saw.
I'm writing. And walking. I pace between thoughts. Up and down the driveway, I solicit the trees for their wisdom and the boulders for their discernment. They comply in a language we all speak, but rarely hear. Wisely indifferent, giving unconditionally and generously, they breezily offer, "Take or not, the onus is on you." Heavy.
The cover is four years old and needs replacing. New "bones" are already in the works. The next round of dry days will bring about the new cover. The plywood this chromebook sits on is billions of years in the making, understanding I desperately try to suckle as I hug the lid with symbiotic hope. Hope's not a strategy says something somewhere.
Tongue and groove pine becomes the new cover - an epoxy top and edging to water"proof" the lid. The rain, wet, heavy dew days have set it for the season...hanging around for several months. Dry days will be few and those will be very cold. Temporary the weather - like thoughts - coming and going - writing still takes place outside.
Gotta run. The cloud are calling. I wish all my thoughts were profound. Nature laughs, "Give it a rest already. Go do your chores, it's your turn to enteratain us." Off I go then, waving at the view.
I'm writing. And walking. I pace between thoughts. Up and down the driveway, I solicit the trees for their wisdom and the boulders for their discernment. They comply in a language we all speak, but rarely hear. Wisely indifferent, giving unconditionally and generously, they breezily offer, "Take or not, the onus is on you." Heavy.
The cover is four years old and needs replacing. New "bones" are already in the works. The next round of dry days will bring about the new cover. The plywood this chromebook sits on is billions of years in the making, understanding I desperately try to suckle as I hug the lid with symbiotic hope. Hope's not a strategy says something somewhere.
Tongue and groove pine becomes the new cover - an epoxy top and edging to water"proof" the lid. The rain, wet, heavy dew days have set it for the season...hanging around for several months. Dry days will be few and those will be very cold. Temporary the weather - like thoughts - coming and going - writing still takes place outside.
Gotta run. The cloud are calling. I wish all my thoughts were profound. Nature laughs, "Give it a rest already. Go do your chores, it's your turn to enteratain us." Off I go then, waving at the view.
To Eliminate A King
Pure power materializes when intention parallels speech and action. Any disjunction between the three creates confusion, chaos, and destru...
