Green Post

Tight and close feathering covers the wild turkey come to Spring Waters Pond this morning. And she needs an umbrella of some sort to keep her sweet self dry as the rains are coming down.  Thunderstorms! High winds!  Jerry Lee Lewis singing a whole lot of shakin' going on backed by a pounding boogie-woogie piano.  Shaking little green leaves out of red budded branches.  Shaking grass up out of the ground.  Shaking green out of white winter's end.

Shaking the green, waking us all up.  Shaking the house, the roads, the towns, the gas prices.  Two dollars and three cents a gallon in Tennessee last week and I do not lie.  Ah, shaking the truth out of me.  I am typically not a first class liar, not to say I have never lied or will never lie again. You could say, metaphorically, the truths of my day are my own tight and close feathers protecting me from another kind of downpour.

Protection from the sadness of our species' world-wide embrace of the lie that has become so pervasive as to mark black as white and up as down.  Disdain, as much as any other thing, has created in me a deepened respect for, if not the truth with capitals, then at least a heightened regard for those who would at least try to get past the it is if you say it is  brand of realism currently holding court.

Because green is green is green.