Quotation

This heard today, with a small twist added by Yours Truly:
"When the Power of Love transcends the Love of Power
the world will Know Peace"

"It Takes All Sorts"

This maxim comes to me at times, especially in an attempt to reconcile some unpleasant experience to my chosen (beneficent) view of humanity.
Last weekend we were hiking and camping among ferns and hemlock trees, boulders, streams with evidence of beavers, grand beeches and maples.
Upon returning to our well-utilized and sporty vehicle, we were approached by a ranger in a pickup truck. He stepped out in a ponderous way i took to be self-consciously officious and proceeded to saunter circuitously toward us, as though still refining his strategy.
The interrogation began. Had we had any problems? Had we seen any other hikers? Had we seen anyone else camping? Are we sure we didn't have any problems?
'Okay buddy, get to the point: which inane regulation do you imagine we are willfully and maliciously violating?'
So went my thoughts, and the false amiability on my face may have added little to anyone's comfort.
Just then he interrupted himself to say "Funding has been pretty scarce lately and we're just trying to justify our existence, so it's nice to know when people are using and enjoying the park."
You could have knocked me over by waving a fern. Such a frank admission! In my view that's all a human being in a government uniform is ever trying to do, unless some intense situation calls forth his or her heroic nature. ...Which is of course the only thing that would (almost) entice me to put up with poor pay and being generally disliked by the remainder of humanity.
It takes all sorts, and this time i felt a glow of kinship to the big fella.

Define: Auctioneer

An auctioneer is one who transforms the English language into Arabic by a fluid continuity of phonemes.

Peace. ...and...

"Wow, poor trucker"
This was the single thought as i looked over my shoulder from the wet pavement.
My sliding slowed before i had fully crossed the highway, and muscles went into survival mode, twisting my body so it would catch and roll onto the inside shoulder out of the flow of traffic.
Stood up. Wheel stopped, engine died. Flooded? Shut off the fuel petcock. Looked 'upstream'.
"Oh Lord, please; no police."
Nobody hurt and no damaged property except my own handlebars and pride.
At a break in traffic Curious George rolled Attila the Fun to the Man with the Yellow Pickup.
He picked us up.

Now what am i here for?

A Moment of Truth

I settled down before the flatscreen monitor. My eyelids drooped and shoulders crept up in anticipation. Of what? A stupor that comes of time passing by without my attention to anything i really care about.
'So what will i do this time?' i ask myself to arrest the pattern.
The sun is out and this winter afternoon is not dead yet, so i'll use this time while the kettle boils to write a tidbit.
Life is here now. The internet may present most of the knowledge accumulated by humanity right here at my fingertips. What will i do, shop for gear that i don't have money for on ebay?
Or create something tiny to unknown effect?

Hang Drum at Pinnacle

Last Saturday i passed a very special hour curled up against the October wind on a rock near the one Dante Bucci is seated on in this video.

Not Weed?

Like Locro de Papa, this potato soup fog couldn't be creamier if they pureed the sunshine. I miss that Andean treat topped with avocado slices. Even the dead droughty corn stalks look soft this morning as i'm transported a continent away.
Yesterday i was stuck in traffic approaching an overpass in our local concrete jungle and my olfactory sensibilities were awakened from their depressed state by a heavenly aroma. Leaning out the window of the old white beast, i closed my eyes and inhaled again.
Leaves scritch against each other, bees forage, and garbage rustles along the pavement imitating windblown forest litter.
The messenger? One of those noxious invasive species of plants once thought to be ornamental or useful. Imported back when people didn't know better, of course. Japanese knotweed (Fallopia japonica) blossoms smell nice even when you're not among a line of commuters belching the nitrates it probably enjoys.
If you find this friend growing along a stream that has only animals fouling it (no industrial or pesticide runnoff, and not within fifty feet of a road) pluck a tender shoot and take a bite. With a zing like sourgrass/heart clover/wood sorrel that takes you back to a nice moment in childhood, this one is much more substantial so you can make salads comprising lemon juice, salt, grape tomatoes, avocado pear, feta cheese, black walnut crumbs, whatever. If you're really blessed, like some disgruntled gardeners i know, it will burst energetically through your vegetable patch, and you will now know what to do with that foreigner whose smooth pale roots reach clear through the earth to their native Asia: Feast!
Then again, if you are more pharmacologically inclined, you could refine and sell Resveratrol to your neighbors, and make sure they don't pronounce it as though it has the word 'reserve' in it.