How could a poet not be happy with a windmill...

how could I not be happy with a story like this?  What I love about living right now is that the movement towards a lifestyle that is cleaner and more respectful and loving of the earth has such momentum--and on every step of this way, poetry becomes more real to me.

What could be realer than the metaphor of wind, the spirit of the air, the cleanser and communicator, powering a place of learning and wisdom?  What I love about living right now is that the metaphors provided by such events are clear, pure, open, giving right down to the bottom and beyond.  I don't feel a need for prevarication, ambiguity, or torturous paths to access their magic.  The metaphorical power of earth, air, fire, water--nature--and our place in it-- is directly accessible to me like a spring of good water.

I learned yesterday from WOM-PO that in the language of the Dagara people of Nigeria, the words for "Art" and "Sacred" are the same.  My guess is that a spirituality centered in the earth is exactly what makes this kind of unity possible.