Man of the House

This kids Dad is working in the states. That makes him the man of the house at eleven years old. He is hilling his family potato field by himself. The soils look beautiful to me but there is a bag of synthetic fertilizer next to Cruzs sister. Perhaps it is some micro-nutrient deficiency that disallows the crops to yield like they used to. They told me that they like to eat the greens off the potato plant; which surprised me. But only the "crioyo", or heiloom/local varieties. This confused me and needs more attention. Why not eat the greens from the new varieties? It is my understanding that the nightshade family potato plant is poison; excepting the tubers.
I've had bean greens and squash tip greens so far on this trip and they where both delicious. It is good to be out in the world seeing a bit of whats new and old.

Honduran Whackyfruit

This impossible and delicious beauty is grown in Honduras, costs fifteen cents Amarican, and looks like a page from Doctor Suess. It's like a grape who's skin turned into a deep sea creature. I forget the name but there you have It. The Honduran Whackyfruit.

Not Much

Is life then not full of the things that are not. At the limit, as the amount of nothing approaches infinity, don't we begin to get something. From here we write a letter to no one. No one is listening. Philosophy is for fun and tricks for kids so get into your barrel and ride, mad man ride.
Ride, mad
man, ride
mad, man.
Being that there is no limit to the potential of any given set of circumstances before they are given and in the case that they are. And being that a thing is as it is. Being, being, being. Then what? Well, whatever can be then. It would seem that we know a trick or two. Show me then, what you know, friend. I'll not hold you to my particular:
Miss
-understanding of it.
So much stupid beauty. It can only be loved and cried over. Can a world be made with foolishness and beauty? Defended with marshmallow bullets and strawberry jam bombs. I for one, do not believe it can. This tips me off that the idea may have potential. But how can I say since I think it worthless. I will persue it, down a thousand roads at once.

Charlotte. I have to laugh at myself for being afraid of the very thing that could be the thing. I'm looking over my own shoulder again. Not back over it... Seems not too functional but what was it that's so important to get done anyhow. There is an amazing and very pregnant woman at the gate here, her belly stretching into an old tee shirt. Traveling momma
to be.
Soft TSA messages on the intercom .
"Each passenger is allowed one piece of carry on."?!
Here we go. Into the tin house in the sky.

Post

As the rain falls I'm reminded of talk on dreams a few nights past. Thankfully not the usual, down the tube, recital of a particular myth perspective; but an honest to goodness look at the mythmaking process itself. The water returns to the soil and the coincident rise in creeks and streams flows through a vision of myself wading Senica creek with my pack on my head. Is there any way that this process of noticing might be focused into a forward motion? I'll head up the mountain tomorrow, if the rain lets up, or if the forecast die comes up sun.

Imagine the gap between chance and plan. The breath that sees and the breath that moves. I'm sure the motion of the rocking boat and the stomachs aboard translates well and is the same over a large domain. Remind me that when a thing seems clear, it is often a reflection in the surface. The depths may be, by definition, unknown. How would knowing change them? And what of their place? And function.

No thing that may not be. Why then any one in particular? It is the thing itself. It is an answer to a question; or a question.