I've often wondered what Mother Nature looks like.

I picture her as sort of late middle-aged, thirtyish or so, with a face that, though care-worn, still hints at the spectacular beauty of her youth. Honeysuckle and Lily-of-the-Valley are entwined in her long chestnut and silver hair. Dressed in the classic Greek style, a flowing, diaphanous peignoir both covers and reveals a figure that would have had Rubens in a frenzy of lust. A thin, criss-crossed silver fillet forms the gown's bodice, defining a lovely pair of breasts beneath. Yep, Mother Nature is one fine specimen. On the whole, our planet is very fortunate to have her running things. Except, that is, on "certain" occasions. When Mother Nature reveals a darker, more "driven" side.

I can just picture her, lying in a hammock, suspended between two branches of the Tree of Life. Her normally beatific smile has been replaced by something else.

Something feral.

Her deep brown eyes have a fevered glint to them. One hand is twirling her hair, picking at the flower petals, and dropping them one by one. The other hand is stroking her left breast, fingers busy, teasing the nipple into erection. Her hips roll and grind slowly, feeling the cloth of the gown between her thighs, wanting something else there. The hammock is swinging ever so gently back and forth, back and forth. But it's not the wind that's moving the hammock, it's Mother Nature herself. Suddenly she leaps from the hammock. She stands motionless, as if scenting the air. Then, with a gossamer flourish, Mother Nature disappears into the woods; only the wind and the swirling leaves to mark her urgent passage.

Mother Nature's horny.

And like all horny women on the prowl, she's not itching for a soul- mate, for someone to live with, to care for, be there for.

She's itching for a penis. Period!

And when Mother Nature "gets her mood on", she doesn't care which penis it is. Or what species it is, either. After all, she IS Mother Nature, the "Mother" of ALL "Nature". Sorry if that offends your "top-o'-the-food-chain" chauvinism, humans!

But don't feel bad, guys. Sometimes, Mother Nature does pick one of us human males to "adjust her mood".

Now you're probably wondering just how such a deed could occur, since Mother Nature IS an Immortal, having such immense powers at her fingertips that one glance could split mountain ranges.

How can she consummate without killing her partner?

Simple, really.

Mother Nature merely assumes the form of whatever her partner finds the most desirable sexually. Since every man's ideal partner is different from every other man's, Mother Nature is assured of a constant supply of willing, eager "mood adjusters".

This also explains the reason why we human males are so enamored of the undraped female form. Yes, we males are visual, and image- driven, to the alternating joy and exasperation of our female partners. As my bio-engineering brethren say, "It's buried in the DNA, ladies!" We are programmed at the molecular level to act the way we do. How else are we to determine which human females are the best candidates to perpetuate the species? But don't despise us for being in a constant state of "rut-readiness". That's just one small part of the awe and reverence which we offer to our lovely ladies. There is something else, something that speaks to each male on the spiritual level.

I think that we may dimly see within each of you lovely ladies, brilliant as a diamond flash, a facet of that mystery that is Mother Nature.

Every facet different. Every facet unique. Every facet unutterably lovely, uniquely you.

Ah, the terrible beauty and awesome majesty that is woman!

Court's adjourned!
Judge Oaf
Senior Judge (Emeritus) of the
Superior Court of the BEArchive