This is an amazing read given the situation in Houston. Via the Houston Chronicle (2016). As bait, I’ve pasted in the first paragraphs.
Hubris comes to mind when reading this. The ass-kicking, oil-drilling Texas cowboy giving Earth the finger.
King Solomon comes to mind: “…vanity of vanities, all is vanity…” 950 BCE
A link to the article follows.
“The Trouble With Living in a Swamp” by Dylan Baddour (2016)
“Things get bad when Houston floods. Water swamps homes, takes lives and shuts down the city. But it should be so much worse. There shouldn’t even be a city here.
But there is, and most Houstonians casually accept the enormous drainage system—the bayous, creeks and gullies—that keep it precariously dry in a former wetland.
Early settlers drained marshes to build Houston town in a muddy bog. Fast forward less than 200 years and the city stands above water, mostly, thanks mostly to 2,500 miles of managed waterways—the flying distance from Houston to Quito, Ecuador—that whisk the floods out to sea.”
This little elf girl earthchild. Her cinched belt, her smock, her disappeared feet, and, most especially, her wonder. May we never show too wise to give over to genuine wonder. To hold there.
Photo: Iain McKell
The sun is just up where I live, so it’s up to me now. This new day, this new light, this unfolding of unused time. See it? How it slips across the dining room table and on out to the pasture? How is rides the backs of the sheep and the small grasses, the stillness? And on out the lane to the road and turning left and right simultaneously? This new day, this new light. It’s up to me now, no doubt. I can do whatever. I can pout, sing, walk twenty miles, I can do whatever. But it won’t always be thus. Because there is the coming of diminishment, the fact of my lessening, the same new days, the same new light, the same unfolding of unused time…but without me. Continue reading
Imagine if every adult in America sat on a rock each morning and listened or prayed or studied their ankles. 6 minutes, say. Or, to splurge a bit, imagine if every adult likewise attended each morning a garden of carrots and spinach. 6 minutes, say. What would come of 300 million folks sitting/gardening each morning for 12 minutes? 12 minutes with soul and earth only?
Art: Kerry Buck
Yesterday when I pulled a length of arugula out from one of the hoop houses, there was an amazing show of earthworms in and around the plants’ roots. I had never seen so many worms. I kept stopping to watch them, to bump them along with my finger, to smell their soily home. Earthworms are no geniuses, maybe, but they do know what they want. Yet the thing is, what worms want is likewise what I want. Is it possible that man and worm can somehow hookup over some common need? Some life force?
It is possible. This:
soil rich in organic matter
One night about two weeks ago, there erupted an astonishing brouhaha in the vicinity of our fire ring. It was coyotes, a great gathering of them, maybe ten or so, the most I’d ever heard so close to the house. Our dogs, which usually go crazy when they hear coyotes on the mountain, went mute; after an initial rush to the door, they returned to the fire, flopped down, and didn’t move. Turning off the lights, I slipped out onto the deck. Continue reading