fronds.

japanese painted ferns?
whaaaaaaat-what?!

c'mon.

a fern that is at it's healthiest when it's color makes it look like it's dying?
that's so good.
i needed it.
i have it.
i love it.
gardening, kids.
i know how to.
we dug the heck out of all kinds of dirt,
and moved bushes,
divided rhizomes,
uprooted everything,
and then mulched it to high hemlock heaven.
a new bonsai made it home,
and so did some turbo-fresh new plants.
plus,
i got a new hat.
yep.
jim knitted me a summerweight super-sexy new cap: 
the hottness, yeah?
and that hat's pretty darn good, too.
now i can cruise the forests in style,
without worrying about a hermit/druid/ranger
making snide comments about my Folk Life fashion faux pas.
i got the green-top treat hat now, ninjas.
***********
i noticed something yesterday-
i'm a whaddya guy.
huh?
you know: 'what are you',
'what do you',
or 'what have you',
only abbrev'd.
like whaddya mean?
whaddya an A*hole?
whaddya wanna do?
etc. etc. etc.
it's some kind of later-life onset italian-american accent iceholery.
i don't know if it's reversible, either.
it's as if every conversation is dripping olive oil,
and prosciutto,
and mozzerella.
my mouth feels dirty. (t.w.s.s.)
but,
that may just be because of the savage
stink-incursion of inflamed big black donkey-stick
that i chugged last night.
for the record:
old thick slabs of birch bark burn black oil smoggy-
...and so hot.
breathing in that slag heap stink,
and the extra-cloudy crap clots of a cao america stump?
that's guaranteed emphysema, in just one dose.
great.
before i knew it,
i felt just like george jefferson on his wedding night:
i was F*ing weezie.
ohhhhhhhhhh!
c'mon.
you like it.
whaddya want from a warrior poet on his day off?
no sonnets, suckas, only sagas-
it's never not happening;
never quiet, never soft.....