and speaking of helpless, i shudder walking around the island. there are many orange x's on many trees. the poisoners are slathering with their destructive glee somewhere in the grey mist. copp had maybe his last last swim in the lagoon. i grieve for the animals. and wonder how our walks will be when the destruction hits. it's in the air, it's coming. they, who don't ask, are in control, and the animals are in flight to nowhere.

barney was wedged under the bed today barking. when i came in his head and neck were writhing like a yellow sea horse and i pulled him out. remarkably he was unscathed and ran to his water bowl and pooped in the office. is that too much information?

black and white fire

crematorium

green entropy snowboy

fandango

glory

i never call myself. i'm always here.

little ruin

my new dog fenway. i'm a little nervous taking a new dog that i will be harried  but he's right on the way home. cute as a bug and reminiscent of the tippy of blessed memory.

the feeling of almost knowing...disappeared.

the torch is cold while the hand is yet warm.

postscrypt

i was wondering why they would poison the lagoon before draining. is it supposed to satisfy the people that imagine simply drowning in air would be cruel? perhaps that would be a slower death, but imagine the shock and confusion of death by poison. i don't think they care, in fact i imagine the face of poisoner levy, in a kind of paroxysm of glee, a rictus grin of joy re-animating his wizened mask, at wielding such law, such dwarf power.  but what do i really know, i'm but an old child and stranger  here, and maybe the gods of commerce will find some value in life after all.
tomorrow i will look again to see if the x trees are felled and the fish laying with glazed eyes at a cruel lowering sky and the birds flown in fear and confusion.
as i was talking with audubon pat we are here and we have to be here and we are not in control and can only witness what power wills and some way keep a log of the birds flown and the destruction left behind. this is a microcosm of the world.
the other pat, the artist, says animals are resilient, but not when they disappear. he asks if i will document the stages. i will document, and whatever happens in this little acreage for good or ill, the animals will continue where they may, in the midst of the sixth extinction.