Perusers of cell-phone-ography find their button pores and pressings amicable to say the leastly... so we've joined in on the game, buttons clicking a tough climb to the top of the table nearish lands we live in Harpsie; riddled between glare ice and thigh-deep snow, the view was, as it always is, worth it. There's a pinch of grief that tags along with this snap however, or rather, trepidation more glassy than ice: some money grubbers and their "green" conquistador dreams (i.e., senile as ol' Quixote himself), are talking talk about erecting a big ol' windmill atop this very mount to capture some miniscule mile-per-hour puffs that come hither this way. Ahh yes. The one last standing strand of woods in the area and some outfit has to pave the pines to put up a power penis. I get it. Green? Bollocks! Eight years of conservatives rolling like pigs in shit, I'll pose the same objections to the other party: who in all their good graces, are just as compliant in this complicity. Money is our good earnest end all lord, remember this. And?

Never trust a liberal...