And the royalty were blissed out and the certifcate’d birthers had a setback only to be redeemed by Mitch’s Hoosierites planning a better parenthood. Wars waged on and new ones began. The stormy skies turned sunny and blue and the knobby tires met paved tar only to be pushed back by the gatehouse keeper wanting two bucks for my passage to the lands where the bluecoats slaughtered the feathered headdress wearers.
Later on, my head began to clear in thought of the words of Wendell Berry:
For the FuturePlanting trees early in spring we make a place for birds to sing in time to come. How do we know? They are singing here now. There is no other guarantee that singing will ever be.