Tuesday morning, its’ already hot, muggy.

Zia maize, or more prosaic – corn.  Bounteous, bounteous, bounteous corn, swelling in the shucks, now feeding whitetail deer, raccoons, a few persistent insects and worms, awaiting the moment of dying, then drying, then to be taken away.

Tuesday midmorning; a wandering along, thickets and fields, where spring floods have returned to the banks, but the water still insists upon it’s dimensions, the air is damp.

Tuesday noon, lazy?  Heat and water, air and soil; the soupy food for bounteous, bounteous, bounteous green growth.  But He & She find it weakening.

Tuesday afternoon, some emotion? maybe.  But in the humid shade,  actions and nearness decrease.

Tuesday later, there is but a small slowing, genes delegate stalks and leaves, and (to our interest) kernels. Swelling to cattle-feed starch or crunched, smashed, and cooked into something to sell,  for our sustenance.

Tuesday dinnertime, picnic if you would like.  Bring what you want. Casual.

Tuesday evening, the heat is shaded, the humidity cools and clings; the mosquitos rise to feed bird and bat and dragon-fly.

Sacred Myth (and repast) and barbarous times (a full belly) share the same calendar page, the Past.  If Tuesday was sacred and Wednesday, Thursday, Friday – barbarous: we stand today and pray (or is it anticipate) a tomorrow.  Maybe some wisdom floats by.

Rejoin us Next Saturday at the tent, outside…