Saturday, September 25, 2010
After the Hurricane
I fancy there are great underground palaces, hidden away from us insane humans, the lunatics who prowl the earth and seek and destroy all that is good.
And these palaces have food and comfort and choirs singing joyfully. While way up above the two legged cretins get on with the business of killing each other while sucking the last and the best out of Gaia, belching forth the toxic fumes that swathe the earth in dark menacing clouds. And making those eerie, loud and painful noises up above in the sky, on the ground and in the oceans that offend sensitive ears and choke the nostrils.
Down there it is safe and warm. Even in the eye of the hurricane that seems like a distant thunder overhead.
And after the storm is over, the scouts - this week it is the bluejays - on duty are sent above ground to survey the damage and gather food to share at the great banquet tonight, for it is Saturday and there is always a banquet and music on a Saturday night.