Hey, it rhymes! Isn't poetry that rhymes generally better than the other kind?

Aw, that's probably above my pay grade. My domain is closer to the ground. Like when the big red fireball lights up the corn fields and pierces the mist that had settled over the farm where I jog (cold air air + warm earth = eerily beautiful paths).

All this to say, it was dashed pretty this morning. And my timing was just right - I managed to see the red of the sun tint the clouds pink before witnessing the actual sunrise in real time. The pictures aren't even half as cool as the real thing.

Got back home in good time and started my usual bit of early morning gardening. I'm a terrible gardener, but I keep trying. And I find that weeding helps, so I always keep 15 minutes or so every morning to do it, right after my run. I find it also helps me stretch my lower back and hamstrings, which got a little wound up during the run. (I do try to be efficient; it's the only way I can make it.)

This morning it was time to do the border in the shady corner of the backyard. I ambled thither, bucket in hand and got down to business yanking unwanted green things in order to favour the growth and happiness of other, more desired, green things.

Smoosh. Gross slimy fingers, and the smell of death. I had just mortally squished a slug.

Ew!

Whadayathink? It rained last night, you're in the shady part of the border that has lots of river stones in it, of course there are slugs. Be careful, you big enormous oblivious biped!

That's how I imagined the other slugs reacted to their fellow invertebrate's untimely demise. I could feel their reproach. Here I was, top of the food chain specimen, killing other life forms without even meaning to. It gave me a chance to ponder the injustice of it all (from the slug's point of view, I mean), before coming back in to cook my beans and prep the kids' oatmeal.

The lesson? Wash your hands thoroughly after gardening.