visuals . . . back to nature

Back where I belong--amongst the trees.

 

Thought I'd get right to business.  Reclaim my youth.  Free-climb this sheer cliff--no net, no nothing.  Just me on a whim with a barbaric yawp.  Convincing?

Me telling Adrienne not to take this picture.  I needed a more convincing angle.

Me asking Adrienne if the shot looked convincing.

Heeeeeeeeeeeere's Jonny!  Paying the price for his ill-advised shenanigans.  Then again, that's been one of the themes of my life.  Don't worry, after being stuck in this position for 127 hours, I made it to the top of the rock--all extremities attached.

First of all, chemo does not turn one's urine blue.  Secondly, I am not urinating.  It's called striking a pose, people.  I call this shot: "Graffiti Aghast."

On top of the world? Close enough for now.  [That's my son, Winter, doing his best to outgrow the old man.  I have no doubt the day will come.]

This is the cutest goat known to man since the dawn of time in all possible universes. 

"Well, if you insist . . . I hate to be a bother . . . oh my, is that an iPhone in your pocket or . . . "

"Please, Sir, I want some more."  

"Pssst . . . hey human, you see dem sheeps?  Dey's got attitudes what need adjustin.  So I'm seein you and I'm seein that cane and I'm seein dem sheeps and I'm thinkin . . . well, you know what I'm thinkin." 

By this point in the day, my left leg was getting weak, doing its clonus thing, (my knees, you can see, are buckled to steady the shakes) and big boy here flanked me and butted my butt a bit--not so much, I think, to eat some of my corn but to let me know he and some of the other grown-ups had been watching me and they didn't particularly care for my agism.  Don't get him wrong, now, he'll go ahead and take a few kernels for his efforts.

The Ass Whisperer.  Wait, strike that  . . . 

Or not.