The Woods

Happy dog and I went off into the woods today.
Every spring, there is a temporary pond here.  It is a rather pretty, if buggy, spot.

 The May Apples are coming up all over the place.  

 

We are having a pleasant old-fashioned spring up here this year.  Some rain, some clouds, some sun.  Cool at night.  The snowdrops have been out.  So have the straw flowers.  The crocuses are flowering madly back in civ.

These particular woods were logged, thus many of the trees are young.  They were also parceled out into farm plots at one time.  So there are stone walls running through the woods too.

Some four wheelers have been trying to block off some of the trails.  Someone got annoyed enough to put up a notice.  [I erased the name and phone number of the one person who actually did sign it].  

 

  I'm pretty sure that the notice will not be effective.  I never thought of putting the words "degenerate" and "imps" together.  I figure the four wheelers dragging blow-down onto the trails are just a few kids fooling around.

 These woods are not alpine.  They are multi-use.  Everyone is allowed in: four wheelers, paint-ballers, people with and without dogs, even the solitary man who feels compelled to leave bird food by a stump here in these woods.

The trails this time of year are soft and covered with fallen leaves.

  Happy dog and I came back refreshed and ready to face a new day.

 

sapphoq n friends say:  I love the woods.

p.s.  Copyright trolls, go away.  I took the pics.  Enough already.

On Friendship

Friends drift in and out of my life.  I drift in and out of theirs.  We know where to find each other.  And that is good.  

I have learned-- really really learned this year-- something about being.  I have mitigated the harshness of my inner critic.  I have turned down the volume of the incessant reviews in my brain.  Yes, I have learned a new way of being.  

There's something about respect.  Something about believing in the possibilities that is each of us.  Something about allowing others to have their own journeys just as I have mine.  We are all different, but not so different that we cannot recognize ourselves in others and others in ourselves.

And yet, there is something else there.  Something that fiercely informs me that I will no longer be taken advantage of, that I am not a sheeple, that I protest.  Anger has become my truest friend.  Not my only friend, as a few people have mistakenly thought.  My truest friend.

I have been lonely too.  Not so lonely that my socks talk to each other in public.  But lonely enough.  I have felt the vastness of the universe.  We are each of us alone in our own skins.

I am a tiny speck among other tiny specks.  A bunch of specks can form a dirt pile.  It takes one person to start a revolution.  One person and a friend to gain momentum.  When you kick our dirt pile, we reform.  We are a mass of dirt piles.  We stir up and clink to your leather shoes and your lilly-white garments.  We interrogate authority.  We agitate for change.  We clog your vacuum cleaner when you try to suck us up.

There's something to be said for solidarity within the protest lines.  There's something deep about a bunch of dirt clumping together.  We form a network which plants ideas and dreams.  We know how to live.

sapphoq n friends     

And the Suckage that is CISPA continues

   

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