Enga mellom fjella

Picking up trash and picking flowers.

So much depends...

upon one's perspective. It's been cold and clammy. My mood yesterday was manic, today? No energy. I forced myself to go over to the Senior Center for lunch (salmon loaf) after I layed down in the morning too exhausted after a night of unrest. No idea what's wrong this time. 3 p.m. and I'm still yawning.

Yesterday I got to another Wildlife Film Fest. Saw "Elephants without Borders" by Dr. Mike Chase about the herds of elephants in Botswana and their daily treks for water in the Kalahari. The issue was migration paths blocked by fences and settlements. The solution proferred was corridors where family groups could follow ancient routes into South East Angola, an area where many had come from during the wars. Still riddled with landmines it is excellent habitat for elephants who can detect landmines better than humans.

Last night I needed to write so I circled the block of The Break Espresso and sat there with a coffee looking at each item I had picked up or plucked:

dead brown maple leaf from last autumn, shephard's purse (a wildflower), a flattened box of Parliament Lights, lint from the laundry, apple blossoms, spent tulip petal, sprig of cedar, spring maple leaf, a torn piece of paper, dandelion seed head, black belt, matches, waxy green ivy leaf, brittle brown leaf (oak?), Blintex ointment, a broken #2 pencil, a shiny penny (1995 D), plastic lid, black caplug, johnny-jump-up, bobbie pin, brass nozzle, smoked cigarette.

I wove a prose/poetic sketch I need to enter and edit. But I have writer's group tonight and must prepare for that. Tomorrow I have another gathering I need to get poems together for. And wouldn't it be nice if had enough copies left over to give my friends I'll see in Minnesota?

Montana: iffy damp 55.

14,846