Storms came through and brought cool air. We put more mulch around Baby Tree. Mylo took a little nerve medicine to smooth out the rough sections on the road to get his blood drawn. He has been sleeping since.

Days are filled with random acts. Mundane yet extraordinary. Acts saying I am here, see me, I am part of the plan. Delight in the doing. Joy in the journey. A voice in the wilderness. Part of the master mosaic.

We want peace until we become restless. Then we seek adventure with a kick. The kick becomes addictive. How do humans, given every opportunity to live together in harmony, want each other’s ant hill? Untold millions have died to capture a little terra firma for their side. Warfare is a little boy who became restless. King of the Hill. Mob movies intrigue us. We root for the Godfather, the antihero, or the supreme boss…until we must live under the dictator’s iron fist.

As God watches humanity, he must wonder if the Kid will make it. Do his children need a little Prozac before they have blood drawn?

Can one person have two faces? Do we look out of our window of the world with peace, love, vengeance, and fear? We seek justice until it is our kith and kin…then we seek mercy. Inexcusable, we say when we are wronged. Turn the other cheek, we cry when we are at fault. Understand our frailties, we ask as we deport others for looking different from us.

‘America for Real Americans,’ the throng cried! ‘You will never be us unless you were born to be us,’ Throng continued to chant. ‘God gave us this land and we took it by his sovereign will,’ Throng sputtered. ‘God says Buy American,’ Throng said as they beat upon their chest. ‘American is his language, all others are the dialects of dogs,’ Throng said as they croaked out their last furtive manic gasps.

The land was quiet and serene. Buffalo roamed freely. The Native American children laughed and played. Their mothers watched them with love and admiration. Their Dads hunted for food for dinner. In the cool of the evening, they would tell stories around the campfire.

‘Remember when there were so many from other countries here,’ He asked. ‘They had strange ways, although at first they were nice before they became restless,’ He continued. ‘It seemed they could not be happy with more land or wealth,’ He ruminated. ‘In those long ago days, they swore they were God’s Kids and that this land was their land,’ He smiled. ‘Fire came from the sky and burned up most of that generation,’ He said with tears. ‘Peace has returned to the good Earth after the restless struggle,’ He said…