Illusion ….. or ….. Reality

 

The land has a pace, the seasons rotate and change with time passing.  With some endeavor one can freeze time to their liking.  Create an artificial environment where it always spring or whatever their favorite may be.  It is this illusion of control so many want to exercise over nature.  They whine, gripe, complain and the bellyaches roar. Yet the seasons march on, they have a drum beat few listen to. 

I posted a picture while back and I got the comment that it pl;ace looked ill kept.  Stopped me and I had to think.  The grass was trimmed, no weeds or trash floating.  Well just a minute, then the bell went off.  It was green grass like a golf course.  It was a winter picture and the grass was brown, in hibernation for winter.  Few people accept the brown drabness of winter in the high plains.  It is a semi arid land and the grass goes dormant to conserve water and energy for it get very little moisture in the winter. 

This is nature’s way of keeping the land intact.  Man comes along and does not like it, so things are changed.  A nice green grass is planted and watered and there it is a scene from back east.  No longer is it the semi-arid land of the West.  So to keep the illusion, water is transported from a far distance, the mountains to provide for the greening of the brown land.

Voila the illusion is created.  The dry drab brown land has become a lush green land.  Vegetation that is not native is planted.  Trees sprout in a once barren land.  The hand of man forces a change on the land.  A small environment has been made.  The illusion has been reinforced. 

The water is not always there and to keep the illusion, water fights ensue.  Demands are made that certain amounts of water should flow.   Nature provides gallons some years, others it is ounces but the fighters want the gallons no matter what.  To great lengths the battles roar. 

Does it sound like the demands we put on politicians.  Through government fiat people want them to provide a certain lifestyle.  Instead of understanding the life they were given, they go crying to big brother and that’s from both sides of the fence.  Always thinking some can can do better for them then they can do for themselves.

People harken to the tune of the Natural man but do not hear the rhythm of the tune. 

Even in the spring the land is mixed, the green edges out the brown yet it depends on what the skies bring.  The dormancy of the land is turning, new life is emerging.  The pulse of the ground is vibrant and gives life to those that listen. 

Learning to live is a lifetime journey of living in reality.  Pushing the illusion to the background. 

 

Windows into the Past

 

In my wanderings, I will roam through some of the small towns.  Seldom do I travel the Interstate any more.  I prefer the slower pace of the old two lane highway.  Many I have driven before, now I see things I used to fly past. 

I put some extra time into my trips now so I can pause for a bit at some of the more interesting things. 

Many of the smaller towns are fading, less farms and ranches to support the communities and the with the Interstate, people whiz on down the road.  Many building sit empty, ghosts of another era now walk the floors, open the doors. 

 

 

Other days, they were active little hubs, people came and went.  Now they are collectors of ghostly webs spun from the past.

 

Sometimes these old buildings get a new life.  An out of towner sees one and wants it or sees an opportunity.  Occasionally it is a retiree that likes to fix things up.  A small section gains new life and old falling apart sections gain a new look. 

Then the new owner moves on or passes on and the new life building fades back into the past again. 

Sometimes it is hope faded.  A vision came to fruition soon to fade.  Empty the building sits, reminder of a hopes that was not shared.  There is a lure of country life.  There is also a harsh side of the romantic notions.  Too many people see nothing and pass by, pausing not to savor the country. 

Many a dream sits dimly in repose.  Days of different life, lived at a different pace.  The siren song of the big city drawing the masses.  Listen to the ghosts talk.  hear the dreams lived out, fading into oblivion. 

New desires and wants cover over the old.  Wanting the new, buries the past. 

I trundle down the road, capturing moments, freezing them into pixels.  Later times, I return to see vacancies.  My memories are all I see. 

Wandering Notes

 

Occasionally I will pause and collect the scraps up and put the puzzle out in a semblance of disorder.  Today a cool crisp 60 some degrees and a dusting of snow on the high peaks.  Then I;’ve seen the high peaks get dusted in July.  So the season changes.  Not that I want it, I would really like to see it stay here.  I have become selfish, want to keep my favorite weather. 

The golden haze of fall is tapping at the door.  Chasing away the over bearing heat of summer.  The days of the dog have faded into recesses of vagueness.   

Most of summer was spent getting ready for the icy fingers  from the next chapter.  Paint the house, fix some plumbing and other odd n ends out side.  Tend to the garden, gather in some produce, have fresh veggies, do some freezing and get ready for the fall.  Get the drive ready for the snows, spread some more gravel. 

Life has a rhythm that is different from the city.  One has to look to self for help.  Understand what it means to be independent but reliant on God.

 

The brow wiping time is but a past moment.  Sweltering heat rotates to the south to spread its wings down yonder.  Spring flows from my autumn.  Winter loses it grip to gain a new foothold.  Traveling across the divide.  

No longer can I carp about the heat, now I shall focus my attention on the snow flakes.

Years accumulate, the roof becomes whiter, the brown is subdued yet on goes life.

Now where did I place my notes.  I had some story notes someplace.  Darn it…. if I wasn’t so absent minded, I wouldn’t be so forgetful.  Oh well here comes the weekend…. Ya’ll have a good one.

Assorted thoughts…….. …….None connected

 

The dog days of summer are ending and its going out in searing heat.  We are in the high 90’s, tripping over triple digits.  Rain has left, monsoon is over and fall’s cool is over there.  Early winter a few say, but right now it is hot summer.  We did not have spring till the last week of May and then after Memorial Day, summer set in.

In a dry climate like I live in there are big temperature swings, sometimes as much a 60 degrees.  Usually the evenings are cool and a delight to sit out side for a spell.  Few bugs in the dry air to bother a person.

There were times to sit outside, enjoy the sights, listen to the sounds and relax after a hot day in the sun.  Overhead in a clear sky, the stars sparkle, rivaling the fireworks.  The occasional shooting star flashing over head.

Sitting the east side of the house, the horizon is a hill side.  Shielding the moon.  Easily the moon creeps over the hill revealing itself.  In its nude glory, revealing its craters of swiss cheese.  The night of the blue moon it was cloaked in thin clouds, lightly covering its nakedness.  That night it wore clothing of high thin clouds.

It had the appearance of a refugee from a cheese factory.  Most nights I can sit outside and in the clear dry air, watch the heavens sparkle in all their glory.  The milky way dusting, big dipper and others just hanging on the tapestry of the darkened sky.  There meteor showers most every night, the passing satellite and the airplanes.

High overhead can be heard the throaty roar of the jet engines as it hurtles its cargo homeward.  Is that a plane from St Louis to Denver, maybe that crossing one is from Chicago to LA or Phoenix.  Passengers riding 30-35,000 feet in the air, hurtled along at about 350mph. 

Someday will those journeys to other planets as the writers portray so well in the programs.  A satellite whirls along overhead, miles above the atmosphere, a shooting star crossing its path.

Yes it is in wonderment when I sit out side in the evening cooling off.  These warm summer nights are waning and soon it will be frozen air out on the porch.  The frozen crystals will join the sparkle of the stars.

The awesome beauty of nature, that man tries to recreate and has not only been kind of successful.  With the passing of summer brings the sleep of nature, to be reborn in the next cycle of warmth.  Dormant will the land be, hunkered down for the icy blast of ol’ man winter. 

I shat have a few more nights to sit outside and look skyward and ask self, what is really way out there?