An English In Kentucky


















July 8th  2011    Tim Candler

    While attempting to conceptualize the infinite straight line a Gardener can sometimes in his search for closure fall for an Hegelian monist principle where there is that thin line between pompous and resigned.

     Then, sun-struck and exhausted, he happily returns to the shelter of his domicile and his error is to switch on the political radio because quickly he concludes that great men are mostly full of crap and Human intellect is in fact a decreasing circle bent upon disappearing.  Which I imagine is a good enough definition of an "uncaused first cause."  

      Fortunately I dwell with an optimist.  She was painting her star-gazer chair on the front porch.  An interesting shade of yellow, and there was on her mind an idea of a green that wasn't olive green, or purple green, but a "nice" green.

    Dour I was through the night, restless from scanty thinking and that old story that has as it's title "Squash Bugs Have Arrived."  After coffee and a trip down the lane to drop off the black bags, I joined the Artist.  The yellow she had applied the day before hadn't dried.  It was "fat lady moist," she told me.  

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