more ivy, less poison.

all my orchids al simultaneously took a nose-dive into the depths
of despair, disrepair, and dystrophic entropy.
y'know?
no?
oh.
well,
they F*ing all died overnight, duders.
lame.
do i want new ones?
nope.
i want the favorite flora of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
in abundance, and i want it now.
good news, neighbors....
i can doo-doo that sort of repotting action with not much in the way of difficulty.
that's a thing.
new dark soil,
old bark bits from those dumb dead orchids,
and a fresh batch of ready and willing new varietal vines.........
it's happening, already, and they're growing up and out before my very eyes.
check the teleport:

ivy.
reaching, clinging, climbing tendrils of ambition are always invited
to the woodsly goodsly warrior poetic world of oxygen-rich righteous real life.
i mean, i'm pretty psyched about it all:

right?
and my kitchen, home to several cuttings and clippings that've been rebooted
and rerouted AND rerooted,
has a new hanging jar of juicy leafy hottness looking axxxtra fresh, too:

kaBOOM.
we love it,
and it loves us,
and it's official the patron plant of warrior poetry.
we're our own ivy league up here,
with brick and cedar,
birch, mahogany, and bamboo, too.
this is where we thrive,
and it's where we let our grasp extend into the ether of our infinite natures.
more ivy,
more pots, more mulch, more of all of it, until every available window sill
is stuffed with cascades of spade-shaped leaves,
and the house becomes one collective living breathing entity.
that's expert,
and that's the sh!t that's going on around here these days.
we're growing, guys,
and getting bigger and better and increasing all the angles in every direction.
too much is the right amount,
and we're not just talking about it,
we're being about it;
never quiet, never soft.....