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Peter Hentges

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September 23rd, 2004


11:26 am - Weedpocalypse Redux
I went out to look at the prairies this morning. Things looked blissful on the surface. the cupplant is starting to bloom, the bees buzzed lazily over the smooth blue aster and the bergamot. Proceeding to the eastern edge of the prairie, however, I noticed a particular specimen of prairie dropseed grass that was looking a bit haggard.

It was smooshed down as if nested upon by a family of bunnies and the lower and inner stems were drying. I fluffed it up a bit and, thereby, noticed some interlopers.

I'm used to getting random stragglings of grasses and weeds infiltrating from the lawn. I pulled up one of the rogue bits of grass slowly, so as not to break it off from it source. I followed it back to its lair and discovered that what I took as an innocent prairie dropseed violated by amorous bunnies was, in fact (and I used the scientific term here), a fucking rhizomatic motherfucker!

I tore into the violator, ripping its offending specialized stems from the ground where they threatened to choke out desirable plants. Then, my blood still up from that victory, I set about on a mission to patrol the rest of the planting to search for similar enemies.

Before long, I began to notice the subtle infiltration of Charlie. Creeping Charlie, that is, that insidious, invasive, obnoxious ground cover that, if given a foothold, would plunge the entire region into godless communism. There were inroads on the east, and the first tentative probes to the south. Thank God my defenses to the west were holding or I might have been over-run!

Now, still sweaty from my victory over the heathen weed, I reflect on how close I came. In a way I have to admire the crazy weeds. They know how to fight this war on a level of morality that is beyond most plants. I won't let that madness consume me, however, lest I slip totally into the weed mindset and be lost to civilization.
Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Mary's Eyes--Gaelic Storm--Tree

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01:49 pm - Yikes!
A big gust of wind just blew through and its gotten seriously dark. Looks like we'll be having one heck of a storm soon! The Weather Channel site shows a big band of swirly, stormy goodness heading our way. Hold on!
Current Mood: excitedexcited
Current Music: Androgynous--The Replacements--Let It Be

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02:50 pm - Adventures in tree removal
Remember that wind I mentioned? Well, it took exception to my reporting, apparently, because it took a big branch off a tree at the end of my driveway, and flung it across said driveway, blocking the exit of myself and also of the new helper here for a trial with Ericka.

So, out I go, into the, thankfully light, rain. I examine the debris, push the branch about a bit and then go fetch my saw. No chain-saw for us pure-of-heart Nordic types. No, no. What this job needs is the vaunted Swede Saw. (So named by Norwegian grandfather, likely because of the number of Swede loggers in Northern Minnesota back in the early part of the 20th century.)

I huff and I puff and I hack that branch into component parts. Now there's a big pile of branch in the backyard. And that's not even counting the smaller branches that were blown off other trees.

Sweaty, tired and needing of more sleep now.
Current Mood: exhaustedexhausted
Current Music: Mary's Eyes--Gaelic Storm--Tree

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10:44 pm - Now where'd that come from?
So I'm sitting here at work when a, well, a vision pops into my head:
A man drags himself along a darkened street. He's wounded, gunshot(s?) to the leg. The street is dark partially because it is night, but even the normal light pollution of the city is darkened here. As if something is sucking the light out of the area. He has his back against a brick building and the bricks catch on the sweater he's wearing. He can feel the grit of concrete beneath his hands and the warmth of the blood leaking from his wound(s). He's afraid of something and trying to escape it, but it's something more than whomever, or whatever shot him.
I was idly wondering about my propensity to create detailed characters in vivid settings who have, sadly, little motivation to actually do something. I think Fred caught that and spat up a character with some motivation (at least in the short term: get away!).

Now to dredge up the rest of the story. Who and what is this person afraid of? Why was he shot? How does he escape? Does he escape?
Current Mood: creativecreative

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