they're destroying our sanctuary and the lagoon is collapsing and the trees are falling in a slaughter of the innocents. i'm going to try to say how it feels, how this war on the planet feels, and the attack mister and i endured yesterday.it's scrambled according to google's rage for order and my laziness to reorder for flow. everything is conditional, or what's that word.

all the way home he was hugging my side, looking up at me, i kept bending down to say are you ok, and to hug him, and he was trembling like me.

and did a sawyer fall with a tree?

and our thorn tree survived too.

and sometimes maybe it's inevitable, many humans and the rare dog are psychotic, and we are bound to cross paths, and we can't avoid them without avoiding much that is good.

at the same time i can feel the pain and the loss of the trees.

but death makes us think of the life quickening in the blood, we survive.

amazing copp seems to be fine, there is no god, but i feel angels were protecting us yesterday.

finally Nina (the name of a hurricane) released and we ran away.

i don't know why i find it funny the tree killer's called Homer tree service.

mister was down under a huge black beast and three men.

unless there's a heaven for trees, it's rather a disservice.

even in the absence of god i keep having thank god he's alright waves wash over me, leaching out the cortisol.

i think i saw this movie before. maybe this is where the sawyer lays down his saw and is taken up by the king of trees.

i thought nina was just a giant oaf until she caught copp in her death lock.

i was screaming no no no, trying to pry the beast's jaw.

leaving the gate open, wishing the beast would run away and get hit, then thinking, what if she attacks again, but ted was holding her down as we got away.

my mistake was not listening to my instinct to just pass by with a wave, going in there because ted and spencer waved and copp wanted to. my instinct said no. but it's a voice used to being made small and unlistened, and i must listen, i must amplify that voice. and usually when we meet new dogs i don't act like the humans talking and ignoring the dogs, but i talk with the dogs. this time i talked with the men, and the stranger said we'd met before, and i felt misgiving, but by then it was too late.

so the morning was the death of trees, and the afternoon was the attempted murder of my love, and now it's the next day.  and i wish i were a poet because a poet is necessary and i always fall short.

so the x trees wait for homer to take them to their long home. perhaps they look forward to the new life of fire.

you can never really tell when attacks will come, and fortunately we are resilient and our instincts not shut down buried or burned in fear.