Well, it’s Spring, and the winds are all happy,
As they blow the garbage around,
Because what else must winds be happy about
Other than doing what winds do.
And here I am in my property
Such a strange term.
I am on it, out of it, around it,
I have yet to dig a hole to be in it.
Yes, it’s Spring! And it will freeze yet again next week
It’s Predicted!
And, quite oddly, there were spurts of raindrops on the resonant metal roof of this house in which I sleep and wake and read and type and too frequently cry.
I do the cooking and bathroom stuff in the other house.
It’s complicated.
I spend time every day carrying water around. Coffee grounds for the nitrogen, and any water that is relatively unsaltified, on the yard. I buy this water and I’m damned if I’m going to just give it back.
Earlier within the last 24 hours I heard rain on the roof. My sleeping/office house has a metal roof. The least bit of rain, you hear it.
It happened twice. That was nice. But nuttin’ on the ground, or even in the roof buckets, the five gallon buckets by the roofs of my two eight hundred square foot houses.
Okay. I’m clever. I’m privileged, for that matter. I have some flexibility here.
But I can’t fix it for most of the humans who don’t have it as good, let alone the non-humans.
All I can do is hope for a crash. Do you understand how crazy-making this is?
All I want is for some really good plague to wipe out western civ, including me. Fine. Have at it. I’d be honored.
I figured this shit out a long time ago. My father taught a lot of it to me when I was about nine years old.
Then I waltz into teh Internet and become informed that we must not discuss teh poor Military, Those Who Sacrificed.
You want progress, Motley Moose? Get past this shit.
Love,
Miep
2 comments