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No sunshine in two weeks,
a smoky shroud has descended
upon the land, the tomatoes are
turning black on the vines. I can
not see beyond 100 feet, colors
of green disappeared, all is brown
or yellow, ash is gently falling like
bits of grey snow, the air outside is
dangerous to breathe, smelling of
wood smoke, reeking of the burned
up hopes and dreams of my neighbors
less than twenty miles away.

Each day the smoke colors change,
red, brown, orange, yellow, eerie
unnatural day time colors, at times
dark like night at mid day. The winds
have gone and the shroud has become
a thick choking noxious grey fog.
This must be how the dinosaurs died.

The news says we have the most
dangerous polluted air quality in
the entire world. Wearing a mask  
inside my closed shuttered home.
Taking "self isolation" to a whole
new level.  

I dreamed last night of deep
blue skies, fresh untainted air,
walking the orchard with my
dog, the sun and a smile on
my face. Upon awakening the
reality shroud of smoke remained.

They say some rain might
fall this week, that wind
from the sea will intervene,
blow the smoke East, restoring
the colors of the sky, the sun
and land, even breathable air.

I hope that's all true. Hope is
all we have, that and brave
unselfish firefighters attempting
to stem the tide. At war tooth and
nail with the fire beasts.
I wish not to complain, many are much
worse off than us, we still have our farm
and home. This is merely my impressions
of the now. Strange times with new
challenges to endure, changes that
make hope essential, first the pandemic
and now these mega fires.
"Climate Change" is no longer
dismissive "Fake News"!
Wake up world!
The bogeyman destroyer is here
and he is us.
Being in self isolation is a challenge
for sure, seeing and looking at no one
else but ourselves in the mirror, or
talking heads on TV, it does not take
long to resent what you see, longing
for a change of scene, a breath of fresh air.

Deeply missing and wishing for real living
breathing people to see and interact with.
Even if prior to this, thinking and believing
that I didn't really like or enjoy many people
in general.
We don't appreciate the real value in
what we have until it is taken away,
or we are told we can not have it.
Getting on towards midnight,
my buddy signaled time for bed,
I let him outside and joined him there,

The stars were resplendent in their
clear heavenly glow, the moon
painted back lighted silhouettes upon
the lawn and shrubs, a gentle fresh
breeze chased the remaining 90+ heat
of the day away, musically rustling
leaves of the yard trees as it passed
through headed East.

The Orchestra of  tiny creatures in the
orchard and grass, were busily playing
their rhythmic nightly concerto, in perfect
harmony,  like the very heart beat of the
earth on which they abound in their vast
multitudes, echoing their celebration of life.

The garden fountain bubbled it's soothing
water sounds adding it's voice to the pleasant
cacophony of collective night music.

I was lulled into submission as the breeze
and the mood embraced me, and fell asleep
in the old comfy Mission chair from my den.,
now relegated to porch duty, My dog resting
in that chairs twin, beside me.

Around three AM the full moon rounded the
house and peeked under the porch, lighting
me up like an impertinent cop's flashlight.
Encouraging us to move on.

Tucker and I did then retire to our beds inside ,
blissfully at peace with the world outside.

"To sleep perchance to dream" ah, but there
is no "rub" here. . . Only peace and tranquility.
Another moment in time too
perfect not to pen and capture.
Maybe not for you, but surely for me.
(and Tucker too).
A family came to our farm,
friends of my son. I had not
been around,  even seen
small kids in a long while,
from my porch I watched the
two boys under six and their
sister of three, as they raced
about the place, to the barn
to see the animals first, then
to bounce on the trampoline,
into the above ground pool
to cool off, splashing, playing.
Their little excited sing-song
voices like music to my ears.

I longed to get closer, to talk
to them, just to be near this
magical aura that small children
radiate, this purity of heart,
this unbridled gist for living.

Alas, needs for social distancing
got squarely in the middle.
So many important things have
been lost to this spreading plague,
most of all far too many people,
altered things and life that used to
be even for the living, distancing
us from friends and family.
Common sense requires adjustments
and adherence. Time before we
can return to our old normal ways
and life. We must all do the right
thing, even it it hurts. Until a
vaccine, there is no other choice.
There is always a breeze or
wind from the Mountains East
or the Ocean West at our place.
We are in between you see.
Winds Bracing in Winter,
Welcome in Summer.
Never smog, fresh
clean unspoiled
country air, bringing
relief from the heat and
pleasant restful naps on
the porch outside.

What a fortuitous geographical
stroke of luck, I did not plan it,
it just worked out that way.
A bonus that came with the land.
Even a blind squirrel finds
a nut once in a while.
Yet another sweet moment
in time felt ,observed and
recorded. If we can not get
excited about these little
things in life then we must
be dead already and don't
know it. Happiness being where
you find it. When I brought
this property I did not know
about the breeze or wind, that
was a later discovered bonus.
These days everybody is on display,
blogging, texting, tweeting. taking and
posting endless selfies, calling out, "look
at me, LOOK AT ME!"

Humility it seems is an old fashioned thing
of the past, in the now, where humble does
not count.

People that have been in a few "B" movies
calling themselves "An Artist", you are not
a artist, you're a would be actor regurgitator
of other peoples thoughts and words, a
waiter in a restaurant, no different or
remarkable than the rest of we several
billion people on this shrinking planet.

An artist paints or sculps, throws pots of clay.
Shapes silver or gold into beautiful things.
Using hands of creative "artistic" expression.
If you look up the definition you will see.

Perhaps it's because there are billions of us, that
people are so desperate to try and stand out, to
be seen and known for something , anything.

My mother and father were artists of a sort,
moral decent people that got up everyday and
went to work to earn a living, to take care, love
and teach their children right from wrong. Who
never asked for or took help or welfare, paid their
taxes and reframed from hurting anyone. They
enjoyed and reveled in their accomplished peaceful
anonymity. That being all the fame they needed.

I guess in a way they were "Life Artists". They never
expected or received an award for these humble skills
of being decent people and loving parents, nor did they
care one bit, or miss it. Their reward was in the doing.
"Humility means accepting reality with no attempt to outsmart it."
Author David Richo "Five things we can not change."
Dragged the body to the summit
Hurt like Hell, in a fractional way,
Cobbled together a frank admission
That I was never one to pray.

Always played the mission my way
Struggled through with ups and downs,
kissed the girls, when they would let me..
Avoided fools and cussed the clowns.

Some mates endured the hot seal highway
Some expired along the way,
Those that mattered kept it up
Them that didn't, slid away.

Guess communication matters
Misunderstanding breeds contempt
Always thought I spelt it out right?
Maybe lied to circumvent.

Another breath, another day
It seems to roll along,
Regret I ****** forgot the words
Now I can't recall the song.

Bitter pill, this restitution
Can't quite, really, come to terms.
Love, they say, is of the essence...
How come, then, one never learns?

Robbed the day of all the meaning
Catalogued the blatant theft,
Endured the brittle conscience cleaning
Now there aint much, actually, left.

Gotta go, I've said my piece
Perhaps you've even listened?
Though, I wouldn't bet the house,
Cos Jesus Christ aint yet been Christened.

M.
Flat Earth Friday
7 August 2020
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