The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_
DAYCARE
Said the carrot on the kitchen counter:
“A carrot is not an ICBM or a baseball bat.”
I was of a mind to agree. So,
“Retinol is magic for the eyes. Carrot cake is visionary!”
“Ah, brilliant . . .the Quest.”
“Pardon?”
“The Magic Carrot, and the Killer Bunnies! If you let one go to
seed . . “
Which I have done. It grows a feathery bloom on a fairy stalk. I
took a picture just this morning.
“The Magic Carrot is proof against incursions of Artificial
Intelligence.”
So as I write, the mystery is solved. My garden sculpture
culminates in a blue marble which, from time to time,
has jumped
onto the patio. And Mr. Finch is visiting. He enjoys cookie
crumbs on the table, flies to the marble. It stays put this time.
This might become a serious distraction. Otherwise, definitely
material for a Doctoral Thesis by an analytical psychiatrist.
It's Modern Art. A Cubist carrot? Yes, now we're getting
somewhere. It's a Formula One racing carrot driven by a maniac
ceramic mouse (flame proof), moving on sliced radish wheels.
Jungian analysis derives the archetype: Carrot and Stick.
Definitely getting there.
Back at the cutting board, stubborn orange is a theme for the
camera, producing images for the brain's darkroom. It's magic.
The Candidate adds a footnote.
“Mr. Kline's understanding of the universe includes
carrot forms.
He reports
a dream first described by Anaxagoras 2,500 years ago,
given as a reason why
it's better to be born than not to exist.”
To which I add a pinch of pumpkin pie spice. And also, orange
is a word without rhymes. Or so it is said. At the risk of
political
incorrectness, I nonetheless nominate “sponge” as close enough
for gardening.
So there you have it, moving through diplomatic shallows -- the
shadows Carrot and Stick. They hark back to Clinton's coy
pond, getting the fish to bite. The Carrot, in today's modern art
of war, is a peace treaty with North Korea.
Somehow the archetype harks back to plowshares and swords.
“But Mr. Kline lacks affect.”
Mr. Finch is here for a cookie crumb and cocks an eye,
cheeping:
“Korea, Hiroshima, Nagasaki!”
Blast survivors begged to die quickly, eyes pleading.
Better than being born? Why swords?
It's time to change. We got what we wanted. Here's a thought to
outshine thermonuclear brilliance: We can get on with life, off
weapons altogether. We can rein in the climate bomb. No one
gets vaporized.
We can want this. We'd better.
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The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_