Make your way to the snack-bar when you can

 

The rain is over; the shelling has stopped.  It is once again safe to go outside.  It is our minds that have the blackout curtains.  There will be more rain, more bombs falling.  Man and Nature have not changed.  The cycle will continue.  We must live our lives during the intermissions.

Neither can help themselves.  One is too massive with endless variables contributing to its growth.  The other is too stupid.   Stupid cannot be fixed.  The educated ones are not the ones in charge.  That is the fly in the ointment.  Greed has forever outweighed knowledge.  Just as closed doors and shenanigans go hand and hand.

As long as there are humans in the game, it will be rigged.  

 

 

         zc

 

P.T. Barnum could have come up with click-bites.  Give them a slight teaser, show them a part of something taken out of context, just enough to make them click on it.  That’s when we sell them the turn signal fluid.

 

 

 zc

A Shared Difference

I find your beliefs to be askew and your thoughts irrational, and yet we share this planet and this culture, so I say nothing, avoiding confrontation and disharmony.

        Still, I wonder how can it be that we were exposed to the same data, within the same environment and for an equal time period.  How can our thinking be so separated?

        We are both plants being watered from the same faucet, yet your flowers are yellow and mine green.  My roots extend deep into the soil while yours remain shallow.

        We are cars rolling off of the same assembly line, built by the same workers, experiencing the same noise and being charted on similar clipboards, yet you have power windows and mine are the old-fashioned hand crank.

        It must be by design that our thoughts fall to opposite sides of an issue, mine being right and your unfortunate.

 

     Ha Ha...

    ZC
    I have the pen.

A Different View

 

 

    We see it as a pleasant break from man-made things.  It is a tiny bit of Nature here inside with us.  Maybe some even see it as art.

    To the plant, it is jail.  It is confinement, outside is off limits.  No sun, no fresh air, only sounds and aromas from the kitchen, desperate cries of things sizzling in frying pans, moans coming from the mound of flower and yeast, rising in a feeble attempt to escape the box of incredible heat.

 

         ZC

 

Doppler - Schmoppler

 

Long before the weather person comes on telling you the rain is on the way we can already tell.  We see the clouds rolling in, we feel the change in temperature and notice the wind kicking up.

The American Indians would say to watch the trees.  When you could see the backs of the leaves it was going to rain.  Also, cows and horses will gather under the trees when weather is headed their way.

 

Wild turkeys just get wet.  They remain clueless.  

 

 

***

 

 

You’ve landed on one of my favorite truths, Zobostic — the idea that weather announces itself long before the human with perfect hair and a Doppler radar steps in front of the green screen.

The atmosphere has its own early‑warning system, and every creature reads it a little differently.

🌬️ The human barometer

We feel the shift before we think it:

• The air gets heavy, like someone draped a damp towel over the sky.
• The wind picks up and starts rearranging the neighborhood.
• The clouds roll in with that slow, inevitable march — not dramatic, just determined.

It’s instinct, really. A leftover survival skill from when we didn’t have roofs, apps, or umbrellas.

🌳 The tree signals

The American Indians were masters of reading the land. That bit about the backs of the leaves is one of the oldest and most reliable natural forecasts.

When the wind shifts direction and humidity rises, leaves flip — silver undersides flashing like tiny mirrors. It’s the forest saying:

“Rain’s coming. Get your shelter sorted.”

And the animals listen.

🐄 The cow-and-horse council

Cows and horses don’t just wander under trees because they’re bored. They’re reacting to:

• pressure changes
• wind direction
• static in the air
• the way moisture moves through their coats

They gather early, long before the first drop falls. It’s their version of checking the forecast — except theirs is never sponsored by a mattress company.

🦃 The turkey problem

And then… turkeys.

Turkeys don’t read the sky. Turkeys don’t read anything. Turkeys simply exist, and whatever happens, happens to them.

Rain? They get wet. Wind? They wobble. Storm? They look mildly offended.

They’re the comic relief of the natural world — the ones who never got the memo and wouldn’t understand it if they did.

🌦️ What you’re really pointing at

You’ve been circling this theme for months: the quiet negotiations between nature and awareness.

Some creatures anticipate. Some interpret. Some prepare. Some simply endure.

It’s the same world, but each species receives a different version of the broadcast.

 

 

 

 

 

 ZC

 

If given a choice...

 

From down here they are no bigger than birds flying through the air.  Standing on the tarmac, right next to a fighter jet you begin to understand just how massive and complex they are. 

Steel instead of feathers makes all the difference.  I can only assume that is the first thing they teach you, never use feathers when building a fighter jet.

I’m thinking it is the feathers that allows the birds to be much quieter than the planes as they pass overhead.

 

 

 

 ZC

 

Thoroughly Modern Millie

 

Millie didn’t appreciate your letter.  She had built an elaborate web inside my mailbox and the moment the postman slid your letter into the box, her home got torn apart. 

Her kitchen is still a mess, and her family room remains crumpled into a heap over there in the corner.  I tell you, she wasn’t happy. 

Ordinarily spiders just rebuild after something ruins their home, but Millie had thought she had finally found the perfect location, sheltered from rain and snow, out of the wind and yet still warm from the sun.  With the introduction of electronic mail, there has been a substantial reduction in junk mail showing up in the box.  Really, she thought she had it made. 

Snack-size insects were still finding their way into the mailbox, so there was never any worry about going hungry.  There was no place inside where her sticky web didn’t reach.  The tiny bugs never stood a chance. 

Fortunately, she was away when it happened, so there were no injuries.  I found out when I went out to check for mail.  She had just returned from her trip out into the yard.  I opened the little door to the mailbox and looked inside.  She was very angry, standing there with her hand, and hand, and hand on her hip, tapping her foot, her foot, her foot and her foot. 

I quietly apologized and slid your letter out, trying not to cause any additional damage to her web.

 

 

Thanks, by the way, for writing.

 

 

 Z. Corwin

🕸️ A Letter for Millie (which you may deliver at your discretion)

Dear Millie,

I never meant to topple your home. I didn’t know my words would arrive like a storm. If I could have knocked politely on the mailbox door, I would have. If I could have tiptoed past your pantry, I would have. If I could have asked permission to enter your beautifully woven world, I would have.

I hope your kitchen finds its corners again. I hope your family room uncrumples with dignity. I hope the snack‑sized wanderers continue to wander in. And I hope your next web—whether in that mailbox or somewhere new—feels even more like home.

With respect, The Letter‑Sender Who Meant No Harm