A rabbit has two ears, a rabbit has two eyes, two nostrils. Our two warrens ought to be like that. They ought to be together - not fighting. We ought to make other warrens between us - start one between here and Efrafa, with rabbits from both sides. You wouldn't loose by that, you'd gain. We both would. A lot of your rabbits are un-happy now and it is all you can do to control them, but with this plan you'd soon see the difference. Rabbits have enough enemies as it is. They ought not to make more among themselves. A mating between free, independent warrens - what do you say?
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I'm not afraid of fear. It's folly, the christian argument that you should live always in view of your death. The only way to live is to forget that you are going to die. Death is unimportant. The fear of it should never influence a single action of the wise man. I know that i shall be struggling for breath, and I know i shall be horribly afraid. I know that I shall not be able to keep myself from regretting bitterly the life that has brought me to such a pass; but i disown that regret. I now, weak, old, diseased, poor, dying, hold still my soul in my hands and regret nothing.
I remembered a story i had heard about an Apache warrior who was captured by the Comanches. He was stripped of his limbs and stretched out and tied to stakes in the ground. His entire body was painted with honey. The Comanches then left him to the mercy of the ants.
At first their bites infuriated him. He struggled desperately to free himself. But once he understood that there was no way for him to brake loose, he decided to look at the world from an ant's perspective. He projected himself into them. As they ate away at him he visualized himself turning into an ant. Things he had taken for granted, pebbles, dew drops, his own skin - took on a new meaning. Suddenly he was overwhelmed with a feeling of ecstasy. He felt himself becoming re united, through the ants, with mother earth. He was not merely becoming an ant, he was connecting directly with all of nature. He had visions of ancestors who came down and began to chant at his side. The three water falls at thermal falls cascade through the veils of mist down to the gorge bellow, which has been carved into the rock by the river we hiked along for most of the morning. Only two of the falls are actually thermal; they are steaming hot , born in a volcanic womb deep inside Pachamama. The third is ice cold. Unlike its sisters, its birth place is in the snow fields at the top of the andes.
Fungi are like nothing else that exists in nature. They appear at first glance to be plants, yet they posses shapes, textures, and colours that are peculiar to them selves. They do not feed like other plants, they poses no chlorophyll, they appear to generate no seeds, they emerge when the rest of the green world is dying, and as Pliny once put it succulently "How is it that anything can sprint up and live without a root?" When one considers that they live in dank and gloomy wood lands, already the province of much that is sacred and esoteric that they offer luminosity, hallucinogens and poisons that accompany these sinister attributes with generating fairy rings and growing with phallic and other weird appearances such as ears, blackend fingers, testicles and brains it is not surprising that the fungi provide a field in which the human imagination can happily run riot.
Seen from a distance, the green, dark forest of summer seems uniform. On closer examination deciduous trees, conifer and shrubs each have their own unique hues. Look closer still, and you will see brilliant flowers and succulent fruits. The forest, which at first glance seems to be an evergreen wall, is composed of hundreds of plant species. Many of these plants served the bushland people with foods, medicines and tools.
Subtle shades of green give way to garish reds and yellows as winter approaches. The leaves of Delicious trees change colours and fall to the ground, leaving branches bare. In the winter trunks and branches are off white, gray and shades of brown among the evergreen spruce. The sun, always low in the sky, occasionally catches the brilliant red twigs of a leafless shrub. Moose will eat these twigs in winter, while they wait for the tender new vegetation which sprouts in the spring. The larch tree, also called tamarack or "Indian Hardwood", is the only conifer in the region that drops it's needles. In a blaze of glory, larch needles turn a brilliant gold a few days before falling. |
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November 2017
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