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The Codex Bellum III: The Observer Effect

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Brian S Woods

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“There’s talk of them clear-felling the forest; the purists want to return it to indigenous heath, like it would have been in Thomas Hardy’s day… But the pines have been here for so long. They’re as much a part of the landscape now a the old woods are. I know it’s too dark for much life in here, but there’s buzzrds, they nest here every year, and foxes, badgers, woodcock, and sloe worms and adders in the heath at the edge and in the clearings. Where will the buzzards go? It’s their home.”

“She grew not on the land so much as out of it, like cottonwoods and bear grass. Each fall a part of her collapsed and withered alongside the wildflowers and grapevines she loved and used for healing. Each spring some new part of her erupted just as the mallows and poppies did, spreading her toes like roots in the truth and sustenance of ground, while branching out to the rest of the living world and stretching upwards towards the light.”

“Here in California, a few years ago voters passed an initiative intended to prevent illegal aliens from using our schools and hospitals. The courts have so far prevented this fantastically stupid law from being enforced, but what bothers me is, a majority of voting Californians thought it would be a really good idea to share our state with large numbers of sick, uneducated people. Of course, the true goal was to force the illegals out, but as long as there are jobs here--even dirty, ill-paid, dangerous jobs--needy people from other countries will come here. Best they maintain their health, and in doing so, maintain the public health. And best their children go to school and become the educated Americans that the country will need for a positive future.”

“The last dress in the wardrobe was loosely wrapped in thin tissue paper that tore away at the slightest touch. Isabel was intrigued by this one, a cocktail dress in peach-colored silk, embellished with a line of crystal bugle beads around the neckline, a fitted bodice and flaring skirt. In the glow of the bedside lamp, the dress was luminous and shimmering with a life of its own.”

“The sun had just laid the first orange slices on the horizon. It lit up the manicured grounds of the clubhouse on the rise, the rooftops of the condos in the distance, making the country club look a but like Disney World. Birdie had been to Disney World, but she’d never liked it. It didn’t feel like real life. The view was enough to make a person think that God was smiling on Horatio Balmeade. He would never have to worry about frost, unless it might kill his imported pine trees, which had no business being in Georgia in the first place. A person could assume that his club would never have any problems, that it would always be perfect, and that at some point it was inevitable it would swallow up the mess of the orchard. But Birdie saw it differently. She took it as a good omen that the sun, though it was shining on Horatio Balmeade and all of his glittering property, was the exact same color every morning. That is, it was the exact same color as peaches.”