I must admit to an imagination of Velikovskyian ideals of ' A Peoples of The Sea,' a book I've never read but look at daily, in as much as a brief ponder as to, how does a hummingbird judge time set of her heart in paths between those slow moving giants? ' Don't they get it? 'even she pondered; the messenger. A distant memory of two brightly lit globes, high above and the light that ensued for many searches of nectar. One dimer than the other, she thought as ' young feathers 'slept, when the waters raged in torments and washed across the mountains in union, when the Titans met. Birthing can be a difficult thing, until named of the event, in a handmaiden's art; a progression in memory and trials. The hummingbird thought as she fluttered her wings in sigh and a taste of the air.
She thought of the many before her who left for the skies, though turbulent, and of the others who like ' nightmares ' walk the remainder below where the Nectar is found. A recognition she's seen, a time or two, like wisdom at a crawl, a hardened shell like stone carried upon her back. A familiarity of an old world that is of never, no longer remembered. She wondered of the great mists and fires settled in bet. As if wings in reshape; a calling heard of will in distant ' pictures, ' abundant memories of all lives lived before the waters met. Under the Two Bright Ones, a thought felt in sight with small feathers, and the sent of flowers parted a sweetness and the twigs spun, yarned around where ' young feathers,' slept. Home. He, so far above the trees, the Dim One alone, as if smile in reminder. Always still, never turning his face, never a thought given, was asleep and old; as witness.
How the ' nightmares ' have forgotten when the skies like furies then parted in answer to screams in trillion folds of lives in chaos, when the oceans leaped. And the bright ones, as if in answer, mixed the waters without question as to why, in violent birth to save all of two in chance; as then, to one. One Bright of eye, given to flowers and all of color, under Her gaze, though He is still near, watchful of heart; red.
" How small ' nightmares 'are,"she sung, as ' young feathers 'stirred while beams and glimmer shown through leaves as Her Bright shown everywhere; knowing he is near, always. Home, where the Nectar is found.
FLATLAND'S FOUR
Years ago I thought to myself ' I remember all,'and a thought came to mind, if every family and singles too, planted a tree of four temperate zones ( like those found on the back of seed packets ), they might all have a chance for survival in today's changing climate. I know some of you are thinking, why four? Well, what's meant to grow in your zone is a given. We are a people of animals in migration when observed over points in time. So, if the trees, as with the plants are in your zone, plant them. It might of really been meant to be there.
The two temperate zones above and below the given are to be plated in your zone ( the given ) first. Turn the seed packet counterclockwise ( This is done to get the full ' Bart ' effect, in order to obtain a fresh perspective, but for those who insist on visualization, I guess that's alright. ) Then choose the one's above and below the first two. Nature is given to survival and surprises. Plant them.
Spread the seed and your children's children will eat well if you teach them to breath first. ( Got the idea from ' Flatland,'I guess, though the cover is nice to look at too. ) God forbid, that I should ever read a few books now and again. I do, but the ones with simple covers, I just like to ponder. I do know one thing though, buffaloes and monkeys shit alot of seeds, just like we used too and they, when they were abundant, before the grasses and trees were all cut down.
Nothing is of one place in time. Seeds were designed with travel in mind.
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