I don't rightly know which I prefer (although of course I actually do).

I'druther -- a perfectly fine locution in the mountainous South of this country -- to live always outside and never inside, should I have to make such a pointed and final choice. Thinking about that in one's nature is bound to be not particularly surprising, and equally bound to be somewhat unsettling.

Older I get, the less I like the company of others and the more I crave the noisy silence of the woods. Some people are blue, I've always thought, and some green and many merely grey (in the fashion of early Van Gogh, before he moved to France, loading his pallet with too many dissonant hues and fastening his mistake with a fussy and directionless sense of brushwaork.

And the blues, they're just water folk. Swimmers, tanners, beach folk. Splendid sexual partners,

it's been my experience. But me, I'm green, greener than a creek fern.

Who knows, though, what clolors even are? The red shift tells us a great deal about the age of light. Newton's prismatic separation angered and terrified artists. What we percieve as color is certainly better understood as a predicable and detectable observation of light striking an obeject.

So how much does a shadow weigh? Oddly enough, that's a valid and much-contested question.

Monet had cataracts and he loved them. He declined surgery with some genuine bafflement. 'Why would I change this,' he said, more or less. "I've waited all my life for these eyes to arrive.'

I often visit and stay in the lovely and few cabins at a park in the mountains very close to my home. Because of the petrology of metamorphic rocks (rocks, not stones) They're astoundingly strong as when a, let's say, London Broil is stood on end or if a raw chickens egg is balanced on its larger end precisely at the time of magnetic and polr equality. The electro-magnetic field is easier to understand than Light, but all forces pale compared to the mystery of gravity.

Silliness, I know.