Mountains Call

I’m fortunate. My life is too easy.  I don’t think for a second that I’ve ever gotten a raw deal on this ride. 

…payin’ more for food, transportation, clothes…the inaction of our lifestyles…

The cicadas sound in the still-sunny hours of dusk.  Light falls golden on the leaves of the neighbor’s trees.  I smell the mushroom soup of supper lingering in the kitchen air.

“Give me liberty, or give me death,” said Patrick Henry.  That’s some radical stuff.  It turned out to be revolutionary. 

How many of you reading this have heard about the octopus that has predicted the World Cup games correct?

How many of you have heard about the South African fisherpeople on the eastern coast of South Africa that are not allowed to fish right now, the time when the sardines are running, the prime fishing time for them, the economic highlife for them?

Any correlation between the eyes of the world on South Africa, and beaches being occupied by fishers maybe not looking like an emerging bustling economic world engine?

I dunno.  Ask the fisherpeople.  They seem to think there is a correlation.

John Muir felt that the mountains were calling to him, and he went.  I like to believe that I feel that too.

Slimy octopus arms cause me to slip off my route.  Rocks bounce me around.  Oh!  But the rhodos say to me, “Laugh and smile…you ain’t shit boy.  We’ve been here since before…And you’ll be gone soon.”

Bone-jarred, I ate a stack of buttermilk pancakes and heaping side plate of bacon about 1 hour after this photo was taken. 

WV, baby!