They Grow and Bloom

 

Our yard started blooming in color again.  Mary told me she she'd like to spend all of her time out there in the dirt.  But what about me, I ask?  Every year the same wascally wabbits make trouble.  Who was it, Elmer Fudd that walked around all day on the hunt with a shotgun?

This is a bit of a stretch, but those oil wells keep growing and blooming, too.  I caught an item from a tv reporter that I thought interesting.  He said in Williston, in less than one hour, he counted license plates from 29 different states.  Likewise, lots of different ones can be found in Bismarck and Mandan.  I sure hope good fortune comes to all of the citizens of this state when the legislature meets.  On Tuesday's election one of the measures deals with throwing out the property tax.  I don't think it will fly because so many organizations have come out against it.  One of the problems is that out of state land owners wouldn't have to pay tax, either.

I need to get out and mow the yard again this morning.  I try to tell myself that it's good for me, it's exercise, but those mornings when my joints are stiff and my muscles ache, I wonder if I shouldn't just have another cup of coffee.  It reminds me of my old poem written with my favorite seven syllable lines:

My hair turns white like the snows
of late fall.  Memories drop
like leaves to the page searching
for words to express themselves.
Language limits, though, and scenes
cannot be retold as they
occurred.  Imagination
encroaches in some of them
wanting to cause amendment.
But in the end I can't doubt
the acts that have brought me here.