Simple Theories

  This Beefy brute, chickadee, flick of black and white, selects winter, and you maunder in the slush. Oppression is a fancy word for landscape now that you have the time to think about it. Time fills the tree with fluffy snow. An achey pine, perhaps, a Chickadee, and a stick to place in some future place. Welcome to incidence, which is  now to the point of now. The thrift of chickadee voice de-persuades the grift essence about talking your problems by metric weight, length, and easeful death of time. You haven’t reached rich enough and the moon acts stark. The chickadee of monument hops about. Compare that to the tire iron you couldn’t find, when you thought you needed something for some  thing . A seed or something from a tree without occultation of yearning. Your top secret underwear needs a revue. Chickadee says  so . The spirit  can  be so. As in so.

  Generous as a lamp post, mullein holds court. Larger than the smaller, its language starts gently, rising alto and discrete. The offices of time give mullein stature. So too the yellow generation of flowers crowding the communal nobility of its stalk. Mullein finds stature in wayside places, like can you  believe  it? The mullein smells, it smells of mullein. A tea of its leaves can be made for those people. Mullein stands as tall as its tiptoe. Because it acts as mullein it cannot be a weed. Why would weeds be weeds with you just standing there? Your money market accumulates interest which constitutes no interest but secular chance. Mullein sports a rood of earth and the bennies include leaves of leafy size. Can any supposition outbid roots delving into the nature of soil? Engaged as a fertile instant the mullein rides high. The adventure of where you are pins to the mullein. You are a verse or something, with graduation possible. Wiggle your toes, wave your hands: sun...

  Assiduous in yellow, dandelions cook the early days with flair. They imbibe treble and hawk in the pitch of their domain. They align weed with impresario, expecting nothing but fount. Fanatics who see them eased in green have fits, seeing moral invasion in the neural network of tone. Impossible bollocks for these pouncing agitations in your civic duty. They invade your lawn  your lawn  and trace the counter tone. Known as astute provocateurs, dandelions have strong communal instincts and cherish their young. Soon they will join the generous wind with upbeat dalliance and a process of time. Dandelion, tell us the tale past the shadow, in the time when time lets loose and all funding is secured.

  The tenements of beauty, a rose. Arose to this elemental sectarianism along lines of extreme dashing. Assert beauty as a subway stop, dark as insurance policy. Policy structures stricture but the rose concludes with coral complexity. The beginning proves solid, growth tough as earth. Rose moves the Earth with subtle vibrations and Union vote.   Hablamos espanol!   The rose smells great without hassle, which you are loath to do. Thorns are plain English and worth every prick. In the night, the scent, and it explains much. Red is the new red.

The willow escapes from the ordinary with wet feet. Churlishness aside it favors us with salicylic acid, the bane of your terrible, unconscionable headache. The willow goes beyond mere solicitude by drooping close to river surface and sighing. Willows bear their young in the slinky strands of their branches. Their lullabies prove comforting like a piano floating in the breeze. The willow can pronounce many large words but life is not a game. Life is a motivation to live while willow stands at river edge and watches canoe disappear. Politically, willows bend because the winds of change and so on. Like most people, there's no stopping a willow from drooping. In the murky sentence of summer the willow goes nowhere, being rooted in moment. Willows vote pro-union because reasons always matter. Matter itself does not. This cuts close to the willow of willow, a timeless retort to timelessness where vacations seem possible and busy carpenters cast their hammers skyward.

  Hawk has worn emblematic clothes for like forever. The phrase "for like" has become the new muster. The word is, right now, that the word is. It should be easy to go from there. As of the Hawk, the term "for like" begets a spongy assurance that stresses screechy dogma in life-or-death situations. Well you know that hawks go fast. They serve their prey with heart thump, pictures to come. So now the crows augment the situation with notes of stress. This hilarity pathway pictures hawk as small change that some little ass bird might chase away.  Oobleck!  The Martians were wary when hawk dive-bombed close. An immediate sentence had to be made. Time-worn banalities had to glister. You probably want to talk about the United States of Dreaming but one hawk cry starts detergent inklings. Hawk knows its glory in the swoop and hover. Rider of updrafts in an openly opulent political system causes sleek tonal controls of the airwaves, at least when possible. Hawk's drama ...

  In the democracy of no funding, squirrel reigns. Keeping anger to a minimum their chipper active parts produce a network of means. Squirrels got the mojo you think about. They never fart. Instead they leave that to you and your dream of citizenry. Citizenship constitutes a flurry of Prime numbers articulating something haphazard and doughty to be stored in portmanteau.  Crazy! Having is to have by utmost or die free. Squirrel tests the thesis while you posit liberty with a flag. Sure, cars run over squirrels with the finality of cash. None the less but ever the more squirrel grapples for more. Nothing is doled, supreme enterprise in energy. The barriers are as stupid as you, tho you can't complain. Squirrel will get or die, which beats not getting and not dying. You vote for the lesser and lesser still while squirrel takes what is or isn't available. You believe you can make a better duck. Squirrel fills its cheek. Thinking about thinking is not thinking, it's just an old...

  Murmuration is great, like the rich chime of natural E. Starlings be like "Guys, guys!  This  way!" Clubbed together and union, what they do is doing, moment wise. Orcas come thrashing thru jaws wide open. Certain sure a bellyful, but the flight continues. Be starlings and attuned, for a change. Taylor Swift can survive without your cabinet of eagerness. Starlings own the strength while immensity flies. We don't know why we are why we are, enough to saturate in the communal doing. Your tv exploded yesterday.

  ndigenous space of Crow community tree top vantage and town in idea— Crows , my friends, are a nest of spanking. The fertile infinity that they speak sparks debate and demand. But they are prompt with township and the clutch together. You look them in the eye now, see who flinches. It is not that they are overlords, more like adapted overlays to the world you think you have. The prompt of curiosity brings forth the shiny max of investiture to the moment. Crows work together until together no longer works, and they are loud. The hawk may gleam in the relishing sun but crow has command and the vocabulary to bring it. You are allowed to watch and listen.

  Pines stand in this world as tall as a lightning strike, usually beneath a dubious sky. They are odiferous and sticky, and much given to sough and birr. The Pine, a tree when it gets to that, regards whimsy with whimsy, and so should you. Barred from distant travel, Pines grab hard the land. Their best trick is the pinecone, also called  strobilus  for the fun of it. These planetary dainties fall into the category of gymnosperms and can only be released from that name when used decoratively. The Pine is not just a conifer, it is an evergreen, which certainly gives you plenty to think about. Long verdant winters tell the tale for the pine. Its plucky needles perform photosynthesis as easy as kiss my hand. Staunch Pines stand strong thru the seasons, abiding like a plainsong. You would do well to follow their lead.