I'm at that fortunate point in life that all I can be is grateful. Things really can't be much better. The nightmares in the world and degradation of the planet is ever present in my heart, crackling in my bones. Still, I wake up joyful.
It's partly due to the green and yellow pollen that wafts through the Klehini Valley and down the Chilkat Range in such thick plumes they might be mistaken for dust devils.
Potential growth, a biotic memory blanket is being layered thickly over the remaining snow, yellow as garlic powder. It sticks to my sweaty skin as I labor turning the garden beds in the eighty-four degree heat.
In the evening I smell like green sunlight.
Just add water
an epoch from now. I'll become
the next forest
BP and Bach by Garrison Keillor at NYTimes.com
I.H.T. Op-Ed Contributor - BP and Bach - NYTimes.com
(A special thanks to friend James for the editorial suggestions.)