verbose/morose

duders,
sometimes there's just not much to write about, y'know?
i mean,
everything is out in the open, for the most part.
the big reveal of ugly truths and ugly men,
with black hearts and black moods and grey hair, even,
messing and mucking about in the white mountains.
that's the extent of warrior poetry and skaldic scandal these days.
it's all unwrapped and unraveling all around the whole wide spaces
and even inside outside and in between the nooks and niches of the
free-spirited and long-memoried mesmerizing woodsly F*ing goodness.
that's for sure.
but as for things worth reporting on?
you already know the spiel-
hot, cold, hard this, hard that, long those, blah-blah blabbity-blahbablah.
awwwwwwwwwwwwww.
oh, i know, neighbors.
real life isn't always an action-item newsday.
but we're up here trying to at least make it endurable,
if not enjoyable,
while the tippity-top secrets of the universe
and the infinite victories of infinite nature take
a tour of the northern reaches of this Folk Life forest realm.
what i mean is,
no matter how many words i use to describe each and every day,
i'm not saying much.
and that kinda sucks balls.
every day is the worst one,
and no gilding of the lily is gonna change that.
it sounds better,
but it doesn't mean the same thing;
never quiet, never soft.....