Mid-summer in Wisconsin.  Bee Balm in bloom and the simmering heat of the sun in full swing.  Oh to be back in the land of ice and snow where darkness reigns and the morning bird fails to sing.

Humans and our relationship with the reproductive organs of plants; can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em.

A worn out sign and dilapidated kennel for the kids.  Bring Fido, I’m sure it’s cool, he don’t bite.

Of course at the end of the day I had to scramble to get my photo in.  Officially, I blame it on the July 4th distractions and what not.  Unofficially, I blame it on my chronic condition of procrastinatiitis (you read it here folks, procrastinatiitis is now a word of my invention).  Anyway, I grew this moss pictured here at the base of one of my bonsai specimens.  Of all things, it’s really a source of pride.  I was able to grow moss.  Moss.  Go figure.

Try to root it out.  With in and with out the excuses we allow ourselves.  What good does a societal definition help in discovery and acceptance of the self and others?  Open ended questions for a closed beginning.

Longs days and hot nights. Don’t you wish everything were black and white?

Having eight children of his own, my grandfather knew how to get kids working in the yard.  A blend of trickery, finesse, and good ‘ole parenting would always have us grand kids either raking the leaves of the twenty or so live oaks that called his yard home or hoeing his remarkable vegetable garden.  One day, he asked my brother and I if we’d like to learn how to use the manual front-end loader.  Thinking this was some cool piece of yard machinery used to demolish anything in its path we fought for the privilege to be the first to try.  Imagine our dismay and disappointment when he handed us each a shovel.

Just the essentials today.

The Sun shone through the sumacs .  Rays reaching me from 97 million miles away, warming my body urging me to forget the coming neglect of winter.  Ever wonder the gas efficiency of photon, the speed of the seasons coming and going, the acceleration of our changing lives?

Oh the grand illusion we engage daily to maintain our sense of self.  Who we are versus who we think we are.  What we want to be versus how we want to be seen.  Our facade, a well- oiled machine grinding gears and blowing exhaust, works in opposition to the flesh and blood humanity living within.