Sunday

Global Warming?


Snow covered daffodils, crocus and Chaucer Belles aren't really that unusual in the High Country. Not in late March or April. But this is February. And the snowy days have been followed and preceded by days in the sixties. I've taken the carbon level influence seriously all the while knowing that this has happened in the past without that influence. The Vikings settled Greenland during a warm-up centuries ago. One that did not last (unfortunately for the people unable to make it back to Europe).

 I have not become apathetic but I am at a stand still. There's a difference, I hope anyway. But I'm not sure as I've come to suspect one's truth can be found in one's transactions. That truth is probably more in the verb than a noun.

Gaylord Nelson's original Earth Day included me as a student activist/organizer. I asked for, and got, my first environmental impact study from a coal burning tree-cutting power company in 1974. I know many, if not all, of the tricks of the environmentalist trade and used them with fairly good results in my last tree-hugging efforts on Junaluska Road five years ago.

So what's up? Hopefully I'm brewing and stewing on a deeply sub-conscious level. That's what happens in the studio on a regular basis. Or maybe I've bitten into a drug-filled apple and rather than actually writing this I'm tossing and turning in my bed. Dreaming about trees, deciduous trees that need a cold winter.   Trees that small creatures, furred and feathered, call home. Trees that clean the very air I breathe as I sleep.  Trees.  A first line of defense against our wicked smog-filled ways. Hug one today. Give it a kiss and think of me. And the rest of us who share this lovely lovely paradise of a planet.

Send me a little kiss, too.  If I am asleep it might wake me up.

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