The roto-tiller and I are sitting under the large Hackberry Tree next to the garden. I am polishing a piece of steel. It is cool under the tree and it is steaming out in the garden. This heat and humidity will help the tomato plants. They will turn red shortly. The idler on the tiller would not disengage this morning as I was tilling the soil. The weight of the arm normally disengages it. I am polishing the bearing that holds the rocking arm in place. Hopefully the cleaning and polishing will let it fall normally.
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My dad had cleared my little 10' x 10' natural forest on one of his visits and left the Hackberry in place. At that time it was about 4' high. I do not know just how big it is now but it is rather large and is sits regally in the space provided.
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I am becoming sensitive to sarcasm or a quick commands of disapproval of what I do. I do not want to hear it or be around it as it is being spoken. Age has torn down the layers of scar tissue and left me sensitive to words.
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I have burned every bridge that I have crossed. I have the feeling that I have never kept my word. Some days are as today with the sun shinning outside and the flowers in full bloom and my mind racing to a new low. Where does the mind conceive of such folly or notion? What makes me think that my words will lift the woman walking behind the shopping cart into her heaven on earth?
I have painted the childish pictures and ask the killers to stop fighting. I have waded into the fires of life without thought. I have walked on those rickety bridges with the fires at my heels. I never stopped and turned my strength toward the fire at my heels. The bridges have burned.
I sit and look back at all the human beings that said "hello" and I walked away.
I wonder if all the people on this planet sink this low in their self-esteem and ponder depression.
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The round depression on the flat plain, the low point, the hollow shell, the miner dip that our mind takes just before we greet the sunshine.
Will it pass, yes it will pass, and I will soon see the folks standing in line at the local
Wal-mart and again I will marvel at their existence.
Will I visit this pockmarked place in our society again? I am sure I will. It has never been pleasant but I am sure it is mandatory in this still being.
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I am down there and I am mentally climbing out. I hold all the answers. The mind says to stay strong. See the screen, see the keyboard, see your hands, see the table, and see the earth.
Sigh!
Peace is here.
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The Homeplace
We walked into a state park yesterday. Oxen were in those pastures; workhorses were taking a day off. It was 100 degrees, there was no electricity in their home, no running water, no air condition, and we were back in 1860's.
But Laurel and I knew that we were a safe distance from the air-conditioned car.
Laurel took photos of the pigs wallowing in the mud. The photo could not record the smell.

 Gollum is learning the meaning of ....

badaba

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 .Words & Graphics by Tomas