Rant, rant, rave. *SoC*
Written by
Jessica L. Jones
October 2011
Written by
Jessica L. Jones
October 2011

He holds a sign that signifies that he is a man. These are arcane times at best, times where the seeds of life are planted. Like autumn in the south, time creeps by us slowly, changes things---attitudes and minds mainly---then on any random day we revert back to our infant state, sweaty and bewildered. Ask anyone who's spent an autumn down here. In autumn the magnolia trees drop cones with delicious looking shiny red seeds in them. I've never tasted them because I think I'd have an allergic reaction.


I imagine that in several years, a hundred or more, there may be a beautiful magnolia right where I sit. If I don't overanalyze that very thought I feel peaceful inside, but most of the time I do, noting to myself that it would be very hard for the plant to thrive given the lack of rain, and the sandiness of the ground, and moreover that we all know damn good and well that as soon as the economy turns around; whenever it does (which it will), some hot to trot real estate developer will come along and buy the quarter acre of land from my dad or whoever will be owning it, get a permit based on a loophole to destroy the trees (most of which are oaks and are protected by laws due to their age), bulldoze the house, and put up five on that plot of land, call it a “green” project and move a gaggle of un-mannered, retired, whiteheaded gentry from up north right on down to enjoy their new Florida existence.



Just as economics are cyclical and dependent on a variety of factors, so are rich and poor people, seasons, and future magnolia populations. Especially in the south, where seasons vary (some years there are no real winters, some years there are hurricane seasons of consequence) and you never know what's coming your way. Grandfathers and grandmothers die only to have their own sons and daughters replace them when new babies are born. It never ends, but it's always changing down here, and while it's rarely unpredictable, sometimes it is, and that's why you never know which seed will become a tree.


Teachers are often times surprised to see which students turned out to be drug addicts and which ones became doctors, for as they were young-lings their futures seemed so easy to predict. While sometimes the children follow right on their tracks, sometimes they don't, and in those cases, all that academic tracking and time spent deciding what outcomes to expect wasted, but that's just fine because they, the teachers did the best they could and they still have their pensions. Unless they don't.


Some say that congressional criminality is among us and they're probably right. While I get the impression that our country has always tolerated a certain level of criminality on the part of those in office, now it's at the point where instead of robbing each other and harming foreign interests they've run out of external targets and are coming after us. Which might be unprecedented, I'm not sure. Either way, protestors are taking to the street and complaining on a mass scale.


I'm beginning to teach myself, or learn from nature, that wherever there is a seed, there's potential. But that's it. The fruits of the seed depend on external factors like environment, human development, soil, water, and sometimes luck.

Let's be friends

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