Pictorial Prose

Pictorial Prose
Indulging my most lucid daydreams

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Good Night

I can't believe it is already 2:30 am. I don't really feel tired, but I know that I am as I am making stupid mistakes putting wrong labels on jars and saving files improperly. The boys were mowing along the driveway this week and caught some poison Ivy and so I have been up mixing up some herbal poison Ivy salve, 1 am and gather plants from the garden to mix up.I feel like I did a good bit accomplished today and to the rest que sera , sera.
It is so quiet as I sit at my desk finishing up my work and though the day is so busy, at night you can hear the train from little over three quarter mile away through the hills. I still to this day enjoy the sound of the trains, something soothing about it all. Strangley enough I don't feel pressured or tense or worried. The day has gone so fast, almost as if it flashed before my eyes. I spent the earlier part of the day cooking out on the grill and preparing dinner for my eldest son's birthday. The weather cooperated , it was hot but not humid, dry and sunny and so I felt calm.

I can't see tomorrow through all the yesterdays,
the child in me still wants to run and play, but
tired is this body and  weary my mind from
the winter trials and the road of old man time.

The wind is still, no birds in flight and a I looked
into the gardens my emotions I couldn't fight.
I imagined you here with, I dreamt it so and
at this very moment your with me wherever I go.

We are soon getting ready to celebrate Memorial day and as I look over my achievements and my failures, they all seem so minute compared to the journey in which our men of the military serve us each day. I have never been fond of tatoo's but I always referred to my son who is in the Marines as a GI Joe.. and American Hero. So he had that put on his arm, there is really nothing about war on either side that is rewarding, taking the position of the almighty and playing lead in the game life and death is always been disturbing and yet we know the sacrifice of so many that have been given so we may remain free in a safe enviroment.
I hadn't had much time to read the news but I did catch this article this morning a  "A 22-year-old woman on summer break solves a problem that has vexed scientists for decades," the article was dealing with space. I was intrigued as I read and amazed at the galaxies uncounted and the little known of the mass of space in which we are minute. Imagine the world all working together to explore that which is still unseen and unknown. There is a bit of irony as people think they are doing such great things here on earth and they have yet to scratch the surface of the unknown. Sometimes I think we are like Dr. Suess story for children " the who's." To each of us there is a journey, a sequence of events, with one soul no more or less important than another.  Imagine for one moment, you turn over a rock in the garden and there you see a huge massive aunt farm. The ants are going about their business and you destroy it, either step on it, spray with insect killer, dump the dish soap over it. We try to do just about anything to get rid of what we think doesn't belong. Some day someone is going to turn over a rock and squash earth. That is kind of a pestimistic thought. But in reality we are energy a part of the mass of the unknown. Yet I know that we are gifted with the ability to think, explore and acknowledge the world around us.
I can't help but drift back to the men in our military and the faces,so young, either they are so young or I am getting old. I believe they sacrifice to make a better world, to educate, to defend, and protect in difficult arena, one that man himself as built.
There is so much more then I'll get to see in my lifetime and we can only hope that the generations of young adults which will follow will seek to better our chances with the unimaginable. Fantasy always has a bit of truth in it and it is that truth which becomes the step beyond the world as we know it. 

There is no power in control as control is but a
 weak tool meant to limitt he imagination.


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