Mother Earth

It's one of those mornings when my thoughts are meandering all over the place. It stormed until after midnight and the woods are quiet right now except for the muted sound of the oil drillers, still trying to find the black gold south of my place. Curiously the sound is like the quiet roar of an approaching hurricane--a muted roar rising and falling as the drill sinks further into Mother Earth. Indians (or to be more politically correct, Native Americans) believed that every thing on this earth contained a spirit. They named this orb we inhabit Mother Earth.

I'm not a 'tree-hugger' of the purest sort but I do ponder what and where our constant poking, prodding, paving and pulling of our 'Mother' is leading. Religionists tell us the signs of the end are all around us (which I don't believe along with other alarmist jargon). Scientists have a time line of a billion years or so until the sun is close enough to earth to turn it into a fiery furnace and another billion years or so until it explodes (or implodes--I'm not a scientist but I do read Discovery) wiping out our solar system. So the time is 'near' depends upon how one relates it to his beliefs. Much like the age old question of how long have we been here anyway.

The first rays of dawn are breaking through the woods and the birds are gaining ground in the noise battle. The sun is about to rise in all its golden glory--time to get off my porch, go in the house and see what folly Shamrock, my novel's P.I. is up to today in his latest foray into the jungles of crime.