trowel tips and Gaian-root instinct twitches

[Martin Law]

On 30 August 2012 22:29, Martin Law  wrote:

>Blessings on the Industrious Revolution and a marathonic planting of nutritious mix of ingredients on this Cork Food web page. It was said to me and I agree, 'co-op' is a funny word.  Like a battery chicken with hiccups.  Damned if i can remember my password.  Occurs to me maybe i haven't got one and need to think of one, i'm terrible with passing words.
Perusing people's friends i see someone on there that ties up to a prior 'Metamorphosis' website and me. Small world.  Long story.  Of a story. A story without a single word of warning, for no known reason.  Simply that.  So that's when i enquired around and rainbowmaker.info turned out to be the next website.  Musical chairs.
(By way of expressing appreciation of a kind nocturnal Industrious Revolution.)  Win a few lose a few they say.
So, with one of the suns visible in the sky (where else?) i sprang feet first (how else?) out of bed at 11.30 imagining a cup of coffee (always works a treat) and after a contemplative while did a bit on the pooter.  Partly to see if there was anybody out there as well as scan the what's-still-not-happening-yet circuit.  Took another look at 'Ascension with mother earth and current state of affairs' as they also feature Drake Kent Baileys’ updates but i'd already listened to the latest.  Yes he's released his other names and his photo.  That website though, every time i've been on it, it messes up my pooter, 'pages not responding' and i get what my moo-tech says he calls 'a sticky'.  [the 'pooter' - computer - is hanging. -ed]  But i got some anti spider solvent, and wonder if it's the black hackers hacking as they talk about free energy and arrests and ascension etc. all the things that set spiders weaving.
So with at least one of the suns still visible and my Gaian roots instinct twitching a bit from artificiality and with the 'Acorn's Destiny' canvas replete with completed carbon blueprint still congruelling on the table i did a four hour leisurely intensive on the front garden. 
That is, spade sliced and trowel dug out a neat gully strip each side of the pathway.  Hauling out deep dandelion tap roots and levering out small boulders and broke off the trowel tip in the process.  But small things become poetized when worded in plain language.  Clipping and cropping the edges and beyond, neatly with hand clippers.  Shear delight.  And even the odd neighbourly conversation pausing for a coffee break, odd being the word in some instances.
"Seedum!" That's the name of the indescribably red plants i couldn't remember last time.  Bumble bees love them.  Tortoiseshell butterflies too.  "Nectar and nectarine".  I counted nearly fifty bumbles humbly stumbling on one plant alone, some of them distinctly honey stripe furred great grand bumbles, grazing and dipping their proboscises in the deep red wine pink pollen.  So sat on the grass and watched and nobody hacked and all their pages were fully responsive.
Till enough being enough, cleaning up the dirt and roots and boots and finger scraping the compost grass clippings (hands are best), and gazing appreciatively at the subtle difference made, looking being an indispensable luxury of gardening.  Cook something and sit out the back with late afternoon shadow behind me.
Backs of houses unlike fronts being mostly unpainted and stucco grey.
Through a gap between gable ends rusted galvanized shed roofs seen through giant cabbage leaves illuminated.  A glimpse of the sea as the pyramidal Sugarloaf due west imperceptibly slides to the left to collide with the glarish sinking sun.  The shimmering disc dazzle streaked with pearly mackerel and descending into a sudden ultra violet mist.  Actually an optical complementary effect from fierce yellow photons but no less real from being in the eye of the beholder.  Seeing the sun sink while eating chips, chick peas and cheese.  Did you ever see such a thing?  Reminds me it was a blessing that long ago i was deemed not suited for entry into a Grammar school.  The point being i would otherwise now be liable to syn tax.  I still remember the interview, and that my mother had advised, if they ask why you want to be in Grammar school, say "it's an honour", which i duly did, "It's an honour your honour".  Worked fine.  No syn tax.
Just as digression is nine tenths of the tale, and like the aurobouros ....
(that one's not in my dictionary) i come full circle with my tail still in my mouth.  Which is probably how i even survived 'secondary' school.  The circle is unbroken so i freely give a sacred hoop or is it a whoop!? Neatly bringing my train of thought into a siding.  Thus rounding off a one act play on words.  Whatever with grammar i think the content is clear enough.... enough for now.
Stay mystical. ~~~~ Rainbowmaker.

captions : 'acorn's destiny' - in progress
by martin law, august 2012

martin law at home in the garden -
a few years ago, Countesthorpe