good morning saturday kids. it looks like a hazy sunny day. i mo go back this way and get more pictures of the mummified grasshopper and with luck the orb spider who lives therein.
i'm reading a really good, beautifully made and illustrated book called around the world in 80 trees. each tree is a story. each tree is a wonder. i was talking with sara about the trees obomba's crew killed to make way for his ego complex and remembering when women chained themselves to trees to save their lives. we were hoping this spirit would return to life in this fractious, nature blighted time. when a building is removed i have noticed i can't recall almost immediately what was there. it seems an empty space of hope, incipient, where something will surely grow. when a tree is killed it seems like a grave, and the stump is the monument to the tree cut down. the stump sometimes if left alone is still alive underground, and will send up new branches. when they gouge out the stump it becomes an absence, an unmarked grave, traced only in the vague recesses of vanquished memory.