Friday, July 7, 2017
As I sip my rich coffee grown on a nearby plantation, I notice that the jungle is somewhat devoid of wild animal noises today. Ah yes, the semester has finished and students have left for the summer. Like Canadian geese and Monarch butterflies, inhabitants of this artificial ecosystem called a university have their seasonal migratory cycles. (Nevertheless, bohemian friends can feel free to blame the still forest on America's rejection of the Paris accord.)
Around the cafeteria patio are other professorial bookworm nerds. We smile timidly at each other in our mutual joy at getting a break from the unbearable pressure to interact with other humans. Speaking of extinction, it's a wonder we professors ever reproduce. Should a scantily-clad babe walk by, many academics would continue chewing on their thoughts, like lethargic sexually-unmotivated pandas chomping bamboo while their numbers decline.
Yes, I've escaped my native California (known in North Carolina as the land of fruits and nuts but known in North Korea as the advanced target range), and I have a temporary respite from students asking me why I'm giving them a bad grade on an exam they didn't even take. At least, my students show drive and initiative in following the original fertile garden instruction given by an authority figure: "Be fruitful and multiply!"
Friday, June 30, 2017
Friday, June 16, 2017
Thursday, May 18, 2017
A crocodile thrashes beneath me. The squawking and dripping of the rainforest where Mel Gibson filmed Apocalypto and Sean Connery filmed Medicine Man surround three sides of my cozy wood cabin that overhangs a lily-choked shore and overlooks a mist-shrouded isle broadcasting monkey chatter across the glassy lake. It’s Christmas in the jungle. The lush fertility extends to a curvaceous young form peacefully dozing under the blanket beside me and deeply inhaling from the cool oxygenated air. I recall a perfect day.