Johnny on the Moon
       If only there was a way out of this. The world is a spinning maelstrom of confusion and color, noise and confusion, confusion and the dull but ever-so-fascinating hustle and bustle of everyday life. It can be beautiful: life, love and the wonders of nature are beautiful. Simple things are the most wonderful: the early morning dew sparkling on a trembling yellow-green leaf, new and young in the fresh, innocent sunshine of early morning. The patterns of sun and shadow flickering gently on a green forest floor in mid-day. Flowers, still and happy and pale pink, blooming and gently tumbling from the height of a tree branch onto the tall grasses and wildflowers of a meadow, also in mid-day. Crickets chirping cheerily in the idyllic evening of the country. Eerie purple-blue mist in the strange light of early morning. Stars sparkling in the ever-vast night sky, dotting the blackness of eternity with tiny rays of hope and light. at night. The soft pitter-patter of the rain as it falls on Johnny Woonsocket. But cruel Mother Nature is frought with horrible things: the way a bear eats another bear sometimes. The way animals without opposable thumbs get the shaft. The way pollution and global warming and the deteriorating ozone layer and war and hunger and stuff.
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