How strange and wonderful is our home, the earth,
With its swirling vaporous atmosphere,
It flowing and frozen climbing creatures,
The croaking things with wings that hang on rocks
And soar through fog, the furry grass. the scaly seas...
How utterly rich and wild
Yet some among us have the nerve,
The insolence, the brass, the gall to whine
About the limitations of our earthbound fate
And yearn for some more PERFECT world beyond the sky.
We are none of US good enough
For the world we have.
**All is well my dearies. April the beautiful young month of pink spring cheeks and mocking laughter is almost gone, to be replaced in turn by the green and plump May flowering. I spend my days between action and daydream. I want to be very productive but often despair if such is ephemeral and visible only to the inside of my soul. I feel I have to have something to show at the end of my day. Is a few forget-me-knots in a blue teacup enough to show for the effort of my day, or perhaps the quirky sonata of some randomly recalled days of childhood, that tuck their small feet up on the cushions of my placid memories? Do we ever think it is enough to show for the glory of being an earthling, hugging earth to our bosoms, sweeter than hydrogen and oxygen? Earth, don't let me fall off and go flying into space - I have already been there.
|Russ Mills, "Pleiades"|