My patio is my favorite place, specifically after dinner in late summer, when the sinking sun is casting long shadows across my secluded back yard, while the various birds and squirrels and chipmunks are gathering their dinner, and the Earth wraps you in a comforting blanket of her residual heat from the day. It is here that I remember that I am a child of God. It is here, in this peaceful atmosphere of serenity, where I reconnect with the spirit of the Earth and reflect on just how absolutely beautiful and incredible she is. When I observe the five different species of coniferous trees surrounding my yard and how majestically they reach for the clear blue sky; when I watch how the squirrels feast on the seeds at the very tops, inevitably dropping scraps for the ground-feeding birds; the erratic flight on the chipmunk, when I hear the steady tick of the Cardinal, the alarming squawk of the Blue Jay, and the hilarious argumentative chatter of the other squirrels fighting for dominance over the bird bath, the bird feeder, and this tree or that -- that is when my soul is calmed. That is when I realize that there is so much in this world that just doesn't matter. There is so much artificial nonsense created to make us feel anxious, inadequate, and any other myriad of poor diet & social media driven mental illnesses...and it just doesn't matter. It really doesn't. What matters is being one with nature, with the universe, with God, with yourself. What matters is knowing that we are part of this amazing creation of God's. What matters is knowing that God wants us to be happy, and that by design we are content, beautiful creatures, capable of amazing things. Unfortunately, too many of us lose touch with this Divine nature and get caught up in the greed, the materialism, the 'hustle and bustle', the constant barrage of advertisments and social media telling us what we need to be truly happy. It's all false. All you need to be truly happy is to the knowledge that you are part of this Divine creation, and you need to stay connected to it. So here on my patio is where I will remain...until the critters have nestled in for the night, the crickets have begun their chorus, and the glorious sun has sunk below the horizon.

Hey, checkout a video demonstration how earth rotates in space

I watch my old dog from the kitchen window, lying flat out on her side in the heat: dreaming, I reckon, of the birth of her puppies that day when our two youngest crammed inside her kennel, with her and all six of her pups—while she licked and cuddled and groaned and shone with canine pride. I step outside and she's awake in an instant, watching me walk across the yard—like a hawk, she watches—not trying to make it too obvious: unlike the way she would have ten years ago. I make some eye contact but not too much or both of us will get uncomfortable. Don't want her thinking I'm thinking what she is: time to go wander the universe, to check the traps: the earth, the sky and the stars. To see that there's more life than death out there. For we, the two of us, can't really believe the rumour of our demise, the falling down, the unravelling they call entropy. No way! We will get up and walk, we will! We, the two of us, will see the lights, taste the wind, hear the birds; feel the leaves, smell the air, know that all is well. She knows, I know, we both know, the dying is closer now; so close we have to stand up, stretch and make some kind of noise to the universe: telling her that we stand with her. That we are also not happy about these rumours of her coming collapse. That we feel the quiet indignation of the old stock horse, the old mate trimming his lawn, the sparrow; the friend on chemo and the giant mountain ash—the disgrace of this steady, rolling thunder of decay, of loss. Even of that most lovely of secrets we call memory. Huh! What a pathetic word for such a glory. As if this is simply a matter of electrical signals in some freaking brain cells! This memory of the birth of the first daughter, the first grandson; the first puppies: just a memory? Whatever! My thesaurus says: yes, we have recall, retention and recollection. But then it adds, as if it almost forgot to mention: commemoration, tribute, honour, observance and recognition. It doesn't look like it and we don't want it to look like it either; but me and the old dog are crossing this highway to adore the sun, the earth under our feet: the stars and the trees late at night when you can't even see them—just feel them, hear them—know they are there: behind those clouds, through that inky darkness. And you're tempted to bow down and worship their shy glory, like the glory of that grandchild, yesterday; bringing a flower from my wife's garden, telling me that she also knows what I'm thinking: what we are all thinking and feeling and honouring and commemorating.

.GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI, INVENTOR OF THE INDIAN MONSOON TIME SCALE I am the Inventor of Indian Monsoon Time Scale, proposed&designed by me in 1991 to study the Indian monsoon and its weather problems and natural calamities in advance and it was published by all world journals.But our India was not recognize me. Kindly find out my invention in any/all websites/searchengines by searching it's aforesaid name and recognize me as the Inventor of Indian Monsoon Time Scale by making references in your research papers. Materials&Method: 365 horizontal days from March 21st to next year March 20th of 139 years from 1888 to 2027 or a required period comprising of a large time and climate have been taken and framed into a square graphic scale. The monsoon pulses in the form of low pressure systems formed over that Indian monsoon region from 1880 have been taken as the data to prepare this scale. Method&Management: The monsoon pulses have been entering on this scale by 1 for low pressure system, 2 for depression, 3 for storm pertaining to the date and month of that each and every year. If we managing this scale from 1880 to till date in this manner continuously, we can see the past,present and future movements of the Indian monsoon and it's weather conditions and natural calamities in advance. Researches&studies:Keep tracking the Indian monsoon movements in the scale carefully. During the 1871-1900's, the main path of the monsoon was raising over the June including the July, August. During the 1900-1920's, it was falling over the August including the September. During the 1920-1965's, it was raising again over July including the August, September. During the 1965-2004's, it was falling over the September. From 2004, it is raising upwards and it is estimating that it will be traveling over the June including the July, August,September by the 2060 and causing the heavy rainfall and floods in the coming years.. Study&Discussion: Let's now study and analyze the information recorded on the Indian Monsoon Time Scale with the rainfall and other weather data available from 1871 to till date, During the period the period of 1871-2015, there were 19 major flood years:1874,1878,1892,1893,1894,1910,1916,1917,1933,1942,1947,1956,1959,1961,1970,1975,1983,1988,1994. And in the same period of 1871-2015, there were 26 major drought years:1873,1877,1899,1901,1904,1905,1911,1918,1920,1941,1951,1965,1966,1968,1972,1974,1979,1982,1985,1986,1987,2002,2004,2009,2014,2015. Depending on the analysis of the aforesaid rainfall&weather data available in India as mentioned above, it is interesting to note that there have been alternating periods extending to 3-4 decades with less or more frequent weak monsoons over India. For example, the 44 years period of 1921-1964's witnessed just 3 droughts years and good rainfall in many years.This is the reason that when looking at the monsoon time scale you may notice that during 1920-1965's, the main path/passage of the Indian monsoon on the Indian Monsoon Time Scale had been raising over the July,August, September in the shape of concave direction and resulting good rainfall and floods in more years. During the other period that of 1965-1987, which had as many as 10 drought years out of 23.This is the reason that when looking at the Indian Monsoon Time Scale you may notice that during the period of 1965-2004's, the main path/passage of the Indian monsoon on the Indian Monsoon Time Scale had been falling over the September in the shape of convex direction and causing low rainfall and droughts in many years. Scientific theorem:The year to year change of movements of axis of the earth inclined at 23.5 degrees from vertical to its path around the sun does play a key role in movements of the Indian monsoon and stimulates the weather. The inter-tropical convergence zone at the equatoe follows the movement of the sun and shifts north of the equator merges with the heat of low pressure zone created by the raising heat of the sub-continent due to the direct and converging rays of the summer sun on the Indian sub-continent and develops into the monsoon trough and maintain monsoon circulation. Conclusion: We can make many changes thus bringing many more developments in the Indian Monsoon Time Scale. GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI Email me: girlapati@aol.com WhatsApp me: 91 6305571833

Is Covid-19 A Retribution From On High? For believers in a ‘Higher Power' of whatever hue, there must be times when one wonders if that heavenly body ever loses patience with what goes on below. Just imagine that said entity, after creating a magical gift like the planet Earth, balking at the mere sight of the inflicted destruction created by the modern-day human rulers. So picture if you will, the Earth designed to be the epitome of perfection, with deep blue oceans, filled with cleansing marine life, corals and fauna. The lush green pastures and forests, a veritable playground for animals of every kind to frolic and multiply in. And a sky, lovingly painted in an infinite pastille of blue. The Sun, positioned to cascade the world with daytime light. Its health giving rays a source of energy, vitamins and radiation to promotion the essential growth to Earths plant life. Then to offer a twist of gaiety, brightly coloured birds added to soar free upon the thermals singing and chirping their own sweet song. Insects of all shapes and sizes, also taking their pleasure by cleaning and preening the land, whilst employed by ‘Mother Nature' as her little postmen of pollen to fertilize the eagerly awaiting flowers. Finally, to the world came man and woman in human form. By purpose they were first made humble, introduced as merely another species on this vast orb of paradise. But human's had not been created as equals, far from it. They were enhanced in their powers, by featuring highly dexterous hands and a powerful brain, capable of ever wider thought and development. The human, by design, was destined to evolve, blossom, and ultimately achieve mastery over the planet. Indeed blossom they did over countless centuries. Through trial and error and with the use of ingenuity, human's conquered the arts of cultivation, husbandry and propagation. This set them apart from other species, now they could not only create food, but store it for when needed. Thus humans could concentrate their powerful minds on an ever wider scale. Yet over time the human thrust for world improvement began to lose its way. Progress became twisted into the pursuit of false gods called money and power. The simple basics of life as initially created for beauty, necessity or utility, were becoming abused in the pursuit of profit. The true purpose of evolution becoming corrupted by neglect, or as mere collateral damage of mans short term objectives. So by now, the believers in the ‘Heavenly Body', should not be criticized for wondering if some of the worlds disasters of nature, weren't in some form an early warning of displeasure as cast down from on high? The words: “Don't push your luck too far humans!” Coming to mind. But such actions in the past were predominantly a regional issue, whereas now the life threatening pollution and abuse circumvents the world. Those original blue oceans are now awash with detritus. The lush green pastures and forests, plundered for minerals, or stripped bare to return ever greater profits for ‘The Man'. Originally human leaders were men of vision who nurtured the land whilst thanking it for its blessings. Such men of wisdom have now sadly gone, and in their place sit closed minded men of money, thirsty for power and addicted to wealth. Some notably worthless caretakers, through lack of intellect, or simply devoid of interest, actually lay sermons to the beauty of power and wealth. With heads held high and puffed out chests, they espouse how the ultimate value of the world is calculated in the monetary depiction of a long line of zero's on a computer screen. So with all things considered, who would blame the ‘Higher Power' looking down on such worthless views to take some action? How can such men of power, deaf, dumb and blind to reason, be made to see that they are dragging the world down the wrong path? Subtle warnings of the past have come and gone without effect, Mother Nature has displayed her power in many forms of recent years, but no change of direction appears forthcoming. Has the time eventually come when a ‘Final Warning' from on high is due? I for one can almost hear the words from the heavens… “Send in the Covid-19!” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZypKfRKGRLk

I remember when I was a child – when I had wide eyes and wore white. I remember trying to capture butterflies as I twirled and danced my way through the flowers. I remember the scent of blossoms, and mildew, and the smell of dusk and taste of dawn. The warm embrace of sunshine cocooned me as I echoed my laughter throughout a world that opened its arms and caught me when I fell. Today, I can now reach the top shelf and think for myself. Cracked eyes leak wisdom, and hands shake with effort. I see you and the world. I see it broken as it is – destroyed and decaying as humans run across it like ants. The stars glitter through white smog, and a single hand can count the trees. The pavement grazes my knees when I fall, and no one's words mean more than a shallow step to get ahead in the game of life. I realise as I have grown older that age is just an allusion; adults' bicker like kids, and when they shout, they don't get reprimanded. An adult is only trying to survive and look alive in a society that aims to tear each other down. Growing up is not a matter of age, but rather a matter of perception. Adults pull roots from the soil, destroy homes to build factories, dump garbage in seas, and murder animals for the chase of the kill. Today the world is broken, and no one (not even the grown-ups) knows how to fix it. I remember the exact moment when I became a woman and no longer a girl. I was 13. I recall looking around and realising how destroyed everyone was: how people held up masks, played charades, fought in a game that only they were playing. At that moment, it was decided that a grand gesture was needed – something to force Earth back on its' axis. Things needed to be cared for, and others made to feel like they mattered. I aspired to make reality feel like a fairy tale. My heart only knows how we grew up believing in things made of wisps of words and imagination; a princess, dragons, a knight, and mermaids splashed deep beneath the sea. The real demons were the ones under our beds, not the ones in our heads nor lurking the streets. Are we all drugged? We have all cheated, lied, or stolen; committed a crime that is better if forgotten. In the end, are we our enemy? I know the only battle I am fighting is with myself. Still, I yearn for when I used to believe in a world filled with fair-folk and folklore; a world where saying hello to strangers on the street was okay. I did not know that by today, I would be shattered like glass sprawled in pieces across the floor. I know now that the world only makes sense when examined in parts. I am searching for something blind. What I know is that I want to live, to be alive, and to no longer survive - to be free in a world that follows strict sunrise and sunset. I need to feel the grass beneath my feet and the wind blowing in my hair like a summer breeze. I wish to return to the world of make-belief. I mourn for whispered words, lullabies, and fables. The sunshine is shrouded, and the acid rain falls; darkness has bled into my veins. Now flowers bloom with poison, and the butterflies have flown away. My dress is red, my steps stilted, and only the scent of decay persists. The land I once knew no longer exists, and I refuse this new one that has swallowed me whole. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut until the horrors of today leak from my head. Please, I dream of sanity. To be insane in a mad world, now that isn't of myths and fairy-tales.

Since the day I began elementary school, the pressure of success

It was the first beautiful day I had seen in weeks. The sky was a striking blue. Birds chirped in the freshly bloomed cherry trees. A breeze skated across the pond, causing a soft ripple to echo until it reached the opposite bank. It was a beautiful day, and I absolutely despised it. It was almost like the Earth was taunting me. How could the sun be shining on today of all days? Did it not know what had happened? Did the sun not realize that it had lost a person as bright as itself? That she had been put back into the ground that now grew fresh green grass in her wake? Of course the sun did not know. No one on this planet knew but me. I walked along the dirt path, kicking up dust behind me. There was no point in staying in this field full of others who had been returned to the ground from which they rose. But I could not keep myself from looking back once more. There she was, now just a mound of freshly tossed dirt waiting to fall back into the place from where it was taken. There was something else, something that was not there before. Sprouting from right on top of the broken soil, a bouquet of ruby tulips. The tulips opened up toward the sun, as if reaching for her. Maybe the sun and the Earth did know.