And now we are on the brink of October, overall a pleasant enough month, but we all know it leads directly to October, which has its cookies to hand out, especially Halloween at the end, but even before that the leaves, my God the leaves. And for those of us of a certain age there is the memory of the aromatic odor of burning leaves at the curbside as we passed from neighborhood to neighborhood. Oh I suppose all in all it was bad for us, but still...
I don't want to be that guy, another cranky old fart, crabbing about the way things should have been.
A little late for us not to be that guy I think.
A fellow artist once told me the story of a visiting granddaughter who was left alone in her studio and when she walked in there was the moppet elbow deep in her art tools, splashing around on her pad then ripping out the page and declaring, "Another Masterpiece," and she was on to the next page and masterpiece, and the one after that until she had a stack of them. That is the way I use the word masterpiece.
Usually I get tired of seeing the same old post every time I click on the Institute and hurry up to post something so that there is something newer to click on, but I liked the photo of that piece of heavy equipment and the ambitious title The Marsh Project, but most of all the smell of all that mown hay. Or is it grass? Hay is grass (or legumes like alfalfa) that has been cut, dried, and stored for animal feed, while fresh grass grows live in the ground Grass I guess then. But remember when you could accomplish something in God's own open air, and never go even near a computer to fill out some kind of form?
