Economics must be a science
--a human science,
a life science.
Wealth is basic.
It cannot be the invention of humankind.
It must be traced to the bases of life.
It cannot reside mainly in banks and buildings,
moneys and stock.
Primitive people had wealth
but none of these.
Economics Must Be a Science
Sedimentary Factory
Bob Komives
Fort Collins © 2019 :: Sedimentary Factory :: 1901
It uplifts the spirit
to walk ourselves back a tiny step toward our planet's nature
to see bright sun
at what only yesterday
was a dark hour.
Our ancestors
(likely even their ancestors)
knew the meaning of sunrise,
of sunset,
and of the high noon between.
Then,
they begat civilization
which begat commerce and industry
which needed to divide the day and night.
Ancestors gave each a dozen hours.
Sunrise Again in Standard TimeBob KomivesThen, they begat machines and the skills to make them, which begat a desire to give more precision to the 4 o'clock meet. But, (below and above the equator) the best machinists had trouble making their hours shorter then longer (and then shorter again) as our planet's year progressed. Until, they added the two-dozens into twenty-four equal parts, so the machinists could work their magic, and the voiceless sun would have to rise at a different hour and minute each day. But, it worked-- brilliantly. Then, further offspring, machinists and the mechanics, invented the steam engine and its railroads. They made civilization roll into a leap forward again. Their descendants, (our ancestors and their things) moved so quickly along these roads that it became a problem to know the exact hour here but not there: “When do you depart?” “When might I expect you?” “Can't you just write me down a schedule?” So, their children, our ancestors told us to ignore our personal, local high noon. They settled quite comfortably into time zones. Even breathed sighs of relief. It was good-- for a good time. Until, their children, our mothers and fathers, (at work and at play) found it hard to give up the summer. Crazy as it seemed, little by little, place by place, they pushed summer into winter and called it “savings time.” And most of us say it is good-- for a time. For, our ancestors, our mothers and fathers in adding more “unnatural” to the already “unnatural” gave us a sudden, pleasant, yearly, surprise, and (at dark times) a hope-filled metaphor. For, it uplifts the spirit to walk ourselves back a tiny step toward our planet's nature to see bright sun at what only yesterday was a dark, dark hour.
Bob Komives :: Fort Collins © 2018 :: Sunrise Again in Standard Time :: 1802..
Ah, Genius of Science,
I confess I owe you much
for chasing off my curable ignorance
and my primitive superstitions.
Yet,
here lingers
an armchair romance,
a well-couched prejudice,
a naive daydream,
a more truthful confession:
A favorite few came back.
featured in the book Good Day with the art of Gale WhitmanWe inter kitchen waste in our garden where it helps us produce
tomatoes,
lettuce,
and beans,
which, in turn, make garden debris and kitchen waste for us to bury where they will help us produce
tomatoes,
lettuce,
and beans.
With burning banned and land fill filling, we should match production to our rate of decay. We do not. Our garden rises. Every fifth year we add three and one-half inches of timber around rising vegetables in our risen soil. Elsewhere in our yard the rise is subtle. Our house sinks without moving. Patio and walk descend to become pond and river, while culprit flowers and lawn look innocent.
I never understood why archaeologist must unearth cities, dig down, and further down through past city below, into lost civilization beneath, to disinter them, bring them up and out, from oblivion into history. I did not understand until I noticed my land grow upward at millennial pace toward burial of my home—obscuring:
noble purpose,
romance,
our sense of good citizenship
in burial of garbage
where
and when
we live.
Our commandments are noble and moral, are they not?
Live with our garbage!
Make it useful!
And, in turn,
Fight erosion!
Erosion robs soil and nutrient—carries them away as spoil and pollution. I do seek to prevent erosion—have supported its prevention by others. Lately, however, as I inter bucketfuls of kitchen waste I unearth questions:
Will archaeologist dig us up?
with purpose?
by accident?
How tiny is that likelihood?
for this era?
my neighborhood?
Or, is erosion the only likely future,
humble accident,
ignoble story
that may keep us above oblivion?
featured in the book Good Day with the art of Gale Whitmanfeatured in the book Good Day with the art of Gale Whitman