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Dawn on the Rhonda Lou rests on the pine trees, the Elephant Ears, red blooms
of the Cannas and sweeps slowly over the green carpet called a lawn by anyone
else but me.
The hours of work to transform this scorched hillside from a dead, used up
wheatfield to a companion for a country home has been a journey of sorts.
The vision floating through my mind can see a boy of tender years pushing
a power mower around new shrubs while complaining all the time about
why must we mow,mow, mow around everything instead of simply back
and forth as the neighbors do. My comment, “green manure,” goes over his head.
These days that boy’s son, almost a man himself, complains about the same
issue but with less conviction. The interest of waving large leafed plants create
a jungle like atmosphere in places and he seems to understand and appreciate
the need for that on this wind swept space. The cedars his father planted now
kiss the sky and catch the pushing, forceful dominating winds off the prairie, too.
The world touches in on us with realities of suicide, divorce, broken dreams,
facing the realities of wheelchairs, disabilities, approaching age related weaknesses,
a world gone mad with insane television gore, all at one time and together in
a strength designed to break the spirit of a well person. This is not to speak of
one whose day has to be met with crushed limbs if not spirit, although that
too seems to be at risk at times.
No sword of truth is strong enough to strike against the times of this world’s
conditions where mother’s kill and abuse children, father’s disappear and bow to
the state and their offering support with money as opposed to a child’s own
father’s love. That state shills out money to feed and
house a child, not at the decision of this or that one, but at the will of those
on high who then pull chains to dominate those at the mercy of their handouts.
So it is, I’m in a bit of a blue mood and my eyes and heart go out to the wonder’s
of the earth’s greenery to lighten my thoughts and bring me back to what is relevant
and real place.
Love of neighbor is not lost in my world. Some, in fact, drive more slowly by my
place so that they can view the sweet abandon of waving giant Elephant Ears,
newly growing Knock Out Roses, and giant burgundy leaves of my broad leafed
Cannas. This year, this day, this moment is all we have to stand where we are
waving our fist at the cunning, hatefulness and devious ways of that oldest of
Adversaries who has shrewdly deceived so many into believing his foxy schemes
of self-interest, and selfishness will bring happiness.
of the Cannas and sweeps slowly over the green carpet called a lawn by anyone
else but me.
The hours of work to transform this scorched hillside from a dead, used up
wheatfield to a companion for a country home has been a journey of sorts.
The vision floating through my mind can see a boy of tender years pushing
a power mower around new shrubs while complaining all the time about
why must we mow,mow, mow around everything instead of simply back
and forth as the neighbors do. My comment, “green manure,” goes over his head.
These days that boy’s son, almost a man himself, complains about the same
issue but with less conviction. The interest of waving large leafed plants create
a jungle like atmosphere in places and he seems to understand and appreciate
the need for that on this wind swept space. The cedars his father planted now
kiss the sky and catch the pushing, forceful dominating winds off the prairie, too.
The world touches in on us with realities of suicide, divorce, broken dreams,
facing the realities of wheelchairs, disabilities, approaching age related weaknesses,
a world gone mad with insane television gore, all at one time and together in
a strength designed to break the spirit of a well person. This is not to speak of
one whose day has to be met with crushed limbs if not spirit, although that
too seems to be at risk at times.
No sword of truth is strong enough to strike against the times of this world’s
conditions where mother’s kill and abuse children, father’s disappear and bow to
the state and their offering support with money as opposed to a child’s own
father’s love. That state shills out money to feed and
house a child, not at the decision of this or that one, but at the will of those
on high who then pull chains to dominate those at the mercy of their handouts.
So it is, I’m in a bit of a blue mood and my eyes and heart go out to the wonder’s
of the earth’s greenery to lighten my thoughts and bring me back to what is relevant
and real place.
Love of neighbor is not lost in my world. Some, in fact, drive more slowly by my
place so that they can view the sweet abandon of waving giant Elephant Ears,
newly growing Knock Out Roses, and giant burgundy leaves of my broad leafed
Cannas. This year, this day, this moment is all we have to stand where we are
waving our fist at the cunning, hatefulness and devious ways of that oldest of
Adversaries who has shrewdly deceived so many into believing his foxy schemes
of self-interest, and selfishness will bring happiness.