Got the tiller out and scratched up some ground in the front yard for seeding some of the seed we got from E&R in Indiana. I broke through some roots as I went round and round the big rogue maple tree in the front yard. The tree needs a name besides sugar maple or its Latin name: Acer saccharum And why have we never tapped it or its bevy of family to the north of our car parking. Maybe this is a line that must be gotten in the water.

Yesterday was a hot and the next two promise to be hotter, then…autumn appears to be here. Cool and in the 70’s

Looking for signals and a powerful morning of creativity. I am lucky to be able to write and read and find. Privileged=lucky?

Every night when I turn on the porch light I am struck by the lost moths. When we first moved here over 35 years ago they would dance to the incandescence by the thousands. Now? A smattering and not myriad. No more lunas, no more hummingbird moths, nor any of the diverse fluttering and dusting of wing and proboscis. Who’s next?

It also occurs to me that we have gone through three different kinds of lights on the porch: incandescent to flourescent to light emitting diode. Could this relatively blue light be responsible for the change? I don’t know, but maybe I can file this under failed opportunity to be the science I want to be.

As usual I am always looking to translate from prose to poetry.  Here is a translation of this observation from my Morning Homework to a poem.

Dead Logic

I have tarried
long enough
at our cabin in the woods
to have changed
the lighting
on our front porch
three times:
incandescent
to
fluorescent
to
diode.
Yellow
to
white
to
blue.
I am struck
by our loss.
No more lunas.
No more hummingbird moths.
Nor nearly the varied and unnamed clouds
that fluttered and dusted
their wings and proboscides
early on and often.
Now a smattering
not a myriad,
blinded by the dead logic
of a diode.
I don’t know if they were driven off
or they died off.
Not knowing is killing me.