Walking on Thin Ice

foto by smith

i don’t kill things, except mosquitoes that buzz my body and flies that try to dive bomb hot chunks of flesh from me… i’ll gladly squish em and do victory dances in their smeared juices. and yet just now i rescued 3 flies from the swimming pool - lifted them out and let them fly free. maybe now if they come in the house and see me, they’ll recognize me like the lion did the mouse that removed the thorn from his paw, and thank me instead of stalking my flesh.

this brings to mind an interesting thought - hope.

those yellow jackets and flies i’ve rescued from the water were dead meat until i came along - their world was ending no matter what they did. then by sheer chance having nothing to do with their needs, i wander by for entirely non-insect reasons and pluck them from death and sit them on growing green leaf to recover and live another day.

our earth as a human nest is dying from fevers we’ve caused. no matter what we do to make it better, we’ve but 20 to 50 years of viable human habitat left - and we’re not doing a darn thing to make it better, in fact we’re doing a lot to make it worse, reducing our usable years by 33%. personally i believe it’s mad max-ville 15 years down the road. does anyone really want to live in mel gibson world?

so it seems our only chance for survival is for some cosmic smith to chance along and lift us from our self-made pool of death.

don’t know about you, but having to rely on something like me to be our only salvation is truly frightening. in real life, if i were supposed to come along at the last minute to make a happy ending, it wouldn’t happen because i’d be off on some mythical mountain getting stoned on magic mead with the rest of the godz.

foto by smith