secret messages from nature

my house is protected by every kind of battle-beast.
from dogs to red squirrels and snapping turtles.
moose, bear, fisher cats, deer, raccoons, foxes, coyotes and frogs.
even turkeys, crows, and snakes. 
hell, a pair of stone owls watch the stairs.
there's no end to the fattie-boombattie fauna around here...
in fact,
a huge pileated woodpecker woke us up yesterday.
seriously, he was big. really big.
compared to the little teeny tiny woodpecker who used to peck our chimney, he was a giant.
he hung out for a while, banging out morse-coded maple-flavored messages. 
woodpeckers symbolize prophecy. more oracles, secret predictions from my woodland home.
ten minutes after he left, and i am telling you this for real, a big-ass hawk watched us in the yard.
he's been hanging out in the very tall pines, 
and i see him throughout the day.
hawks are supposed to be messengers. prophecies and messages...
it seems nature has a special delivery for me, and eventually,
 i'll either see the forest for the trees,
or an english-speaking animal will finally show up and spill the beans. 
the secret universal plan is trying harder than ever, and i swear i am looking and listening.
its like one of those 'magic eye' things, only not lame.
i guess if it wasn't hard to figure out, it would NOT be a secret message.

-dear Mother Nature,
i don't speak hawk, or woodpecker.
sorry,
maybe a little note would be helpful, or a decoder ring.
xoxo
love,
albie.

i scoopled up all the ingredients for a 
barbarian bonfire from the woods.
every windy day, 
a heap of burnable goodness sheds itself off of the trees out here.
it's great. the woods themselves are like a great big depot of fire supplies.
jess has been making the yard look amazing, and flowers and
vegetable were planted in abundance yesterday. green thumbs. two of 'em. way up.
hands should be browned up with soil, its good for you.
i'm sayin', touch the earth. hold it between your fingers.  
GROW.

i'm sayin'.

i don't know what these are supposed to be.
i DO know that they live in a vending machine at the grocery store.
thats a toast-bobot on the left, and the duders on the right are tiki-heads with little dudes driving them. if you don't agree that these are dope, theres honestly something wrong with you.
call a doctor. i mean it, get help.

guns, axes, books, small plastic toys. little awesomes. tiny treats. my hours and my days are jam-packed with all the parts, the nuts and bolts, and bits and pieces, that assemble the picture-perfect fiery furnace of fury. i'm building the life i want to live in. (its pretty small, and pretty simple, so i think i can do it, even though i only have the equipment and not the instructions)
every day, in every way, i am striving for the full force flavor.
the hottness. 
luckily, i also have a wrench.
...we're building an exclusive vocabulary here, people.
a new mythology.
stacking stories on top of each other, overlapping, and overloading the upper limits of
in-the-know-it-all in-jokes.
wrenches, furnaces, hot fire, and a buttload of analogy, metaphor, euphamism, and truth.
i am grateful for the time i have been given.
i hope i am not using it poorly.
thanks for reading, my ninjas.