While Up and Adrift In Cloud 9

While Up And Adrift In Cloud 9... Reprieve from damp, and rainy, or sultry weather, I schlepped a light weight Shaker made folding chair out upon Jim Baker Nabor's green acre and once enthroned as a " FAKE FAKIR" in rubberized web bing (seam ming lee lapis lazuli trimmed), this body of mine lapsed into Quaker state averse to focus attention, gnome hatter eyes fixedly glute to the pages, sans newsworthy printed material, to apprise and jute keeping me astute with major local and global journalistic burning hotspots whatsapp pining (the most recent issue Newt about Gingrich commendable TIME magazine), boot with rather light breeze tolerably blowing temperate, moderate air currents enveloping this here ole coot, who aint got Hoot tee and the Blowfish, nor toot from no mo' magic flute, thus by natural dint cocked mean looking head (you figure out which one) between the devil and the deep blue seas tureen, which gaze extended clean skyward to cerulean vault populated with strunk and white tufts in stark contrast did lean in to the verdant rich green sward abuzz within invisible micro ecosystems niched and stitched by Jean E. Huss flora Dean and endearing fauna minted quartered gene, which hubbub of variegated organisms sound accompanied motley crue of each scudding soundcloud shape shifting bill low whee near weightless (cottony ma their) keen stern preachily mass stir, then puff (like a magic dragon), no more easily seen.