It is a post-apocalyptic world, a post-apocalyptic forest here in the
foothills of the Ozark Mountains.
The world's economy has crashed, and it continues to burn. Those
former masters of the universe continue to hang and jerk at the ends
of the toxic sub-prime mortgages they sold. There was another
devastating ice storm in Oklahoma (see 'narrative of the voyage of the
bloody, snake, chariot' at www.libbyhome.blogspot.com). And suddenly
the familiar is no longer familiar.
It is the most rigid trees with the hardest, most unyielding wood that
fall, become stubs of themselves under the weight of the ice.
It is the most flexible, the most supple that are best able to dance
that dance with dynamic uncertainty, best able to emerge from the
melting ice, from the meltdown the most unscathed, most able to seize
the new possibilities of the new forest, the new world.
Be light, be nimble - in the dance.
[read blog-style -- first entry at bottom of page]