Swamp Side Stories,The Gardener

He wasn’t really a gardener. Meanwhile, back at the lodge the Overseer awaits. It’s a Beaver lodge stupid. And the Porcupine is late having been 40 feet up a Hemlock for two days of spirit time putting him out of Cronos time for sure. He, the gardener, did continue to make tea out the Common Canadian Grounsel (S.pauperculus) which some people use in ‘herbal remedies’. Though it has been known to cause (with extended use) lack of appetite, vomiting, bloody diarrhea,sleepiness, weakness, STAGGERING, and jaundice with liver damage and even death. He prefered it with a little medicated CBD honey, Mango Haze and CBD Dream worked well. Oh yes, it has been known, the Groundsel, to fell livestock, particularly young animals – horses and cattle have DIED. Pregnant women should not use Groundsel tea because it could harm the fetus, these toxins are also passed in the milk of dairy animals. In fact all members of this genus should be considered WITH SUSPICION. Mackinnon, Kershaw;Wild Edible Plants of North America. Grounsels are part of the largest and most diverse genera in the world, with more than 35 species in Canada. There are probably some out there in your garden right now. Waiting for you to let your guard down. He liked to eat it sauteed with bacon grease and fried eggs. No toast as he preferred ketosis to lethargy. He planned for the day to serve a hot cup of sweet Groundsel tea to Constable Little Man, one day soon. A staggeringly hot mid-summer noon with Little Man himself lurching, no, STAGGERING down Main Street only to fall down on the steps of the spotless empty library, clutching at his throat. Some say it was the depaneur latte. He did recover, though a slightly yellowish tint to his skin prevailed. The gardener sharpened his shears in his portable sharpening cart. Pulled by one goat, a purebred Obershali named Ranunculin and a dog named Cindy who had other things on her mind. He was sharpening his crushing insight by sharpening peoples hand tools which were back in style with the price of gas up. Reminder: This particular Porcupine sustained herself with nothing but Chaga and Beech bark. Constable Little Man came to on the sidewalk with a crowd of people staring down at him. He didn’t notice the Black squirrel low in the Blue Spruce pretending to munch on a Pine cone but actually relaying all of this data by tail language to his homies up and down Main St. Tail language was a sort of squirrel sign language. Chipmunks had their own dialect but can make themselves understood to each other though some details may be lost. Meanwhile, beside the shimmering green mountain flank where the abandoned ski lifts made noises like ships rigging, clanking and creaking the old chairs swinging in the wind- there was plenty of snow but if you wanted to carve these days you had to climb- a local homeless shaman lived in one of the underground concrete storage bunkers. He collected cans by day and spoke freely to his ancestors out loud for all to hear. He was honoured to have been invited to the meeting at the lodge. He donned his regalia; Grouse Feather headdress, pants made from scraps of other pants, a Hemp shirt ordered online, moccasins, a necklace of one large Moldavite stone he unearthed in a field in Croatia (where he flew to in the form of a Barred Owl one night) blue, yellow and red flecked feathers of a Cedar Waxwing woven into his hair, on his wrist a bracelet made from the bones of a Sturgeon he found on the shores of his lakeside home by the Great river. He also wore a green cap with the words Le Studio, Temple of Sound – stitched to the front. Minutes of the Meeting: Soft Disclosure – Are they actually telling us what they are doing? -Enhance and Subvert -Hydrogels, Nanotech -Immortalized Cell Lines and Imminent loss of empathy. Beaver, creator of this waterlogged landscape sent out the VIBE- for animals didn’t talk like humans- they sent out energy vibes to each other. There was no time to sit down and face each other and repeat social customs of false politeness and confined body postures – they continued to work and do their thing while they communicated. The basic vibe was that the humans were clearly being attacked from within, by their own kind who had been occupied by dark forces. The frontmen were merely vessels spouting fear and issuing directives for the plastic industry. It was clear, to all at the lodge meeting, that it was the humans who were the problem. Their means of sustenance, their very appetites and taste buds had been taken over by a few multinational corporations. Their very usefulness, ability to survive without destroying their own nest was clearly at issue. They were lost, sick, and getting very impatient towards one another now that they were masked and restricted in their movements. So the point of the meeting? Do we, the original inhabitants, even try to help the humans or just watch the show from the sidelines?


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