Mercy me, they paved paradise and put up a parking lot.

Somewhere beyond my misanthropy there are vistas clear, and wide, and like Heather Anne's world, full of color.





Sometimes I get lost in the daily grind of my life, ridiculous considering the place I work but it's true. I open my office door and see mountains of binders brimming with technical specs and employee training manuals and grant applications, stacks of wastewater permits tumbling to the floor in an avalanche of effluent limitations, and all I can think is Oh God, not again.





So consciously I constantly remind myself to sit. Be still. Watch for spring's first bloom, winter's first snow.





And then there's this:

"You have children," I told him; "would you rather leave them a world consumed with fighting apocryphal weapons of mass destruction, or would you rather leave them clean air to breathe, and clean water to drink, and safe food to eat?" (I can repeat these things to you now that The Collective is just between us.)







And I figure, What the heck. I'll fight another day.