2026.03
Morning journal posts from March 2026.
The Answer is Beauty
You'd be better off jumping off a bridge without a bungee cord than attempting to live without a place for The Beautiful in your Life.
Saturday, March 07, 2026
Good morning, The Wonder Fell Way.
Thaw. Temperatures start to rise.
Spring springing its sprung mists from snowbanks to water every tree from the ground up.
...
What's the use of Beauty? It's part of my Life and Livelihood to celebrate and share it, so what's the point?
Many morning entries touch on what's up with The Beautiful.
But why should you care?
You could, of course, plug your wants and ambitions into some AI software and follow day by day the Large Language Model's replies everyday all day and live a respectable, quite un-beautiful, though successful and unfulfilling Life.
You'd be better off jumping off a bridge without a bungee cord than attempting to live without a place for The Beautiful in your Life.
The experience of beautiful things is a recognition of the harmony of coexistence.
Certain notes come together to make a certain pleasing chord.
It's the same with all acts of creation.
Certain words arranged in a particular manner evoke unique responses in a reader. It's my cup of tea; my Life is built around bringing forth Beautiful recognitions through words.
When words bring about a certain harmony between author and reader we call the experience: Beautiful.
How are we doing? O/
We shape our dreams in the same way we read: Words label clouds of imagination to rain down ideas.
The experience of making a dream into a reality is nowhere better reflected than while we read.
This is the human process AI seeks to emulate.
The important question here is why.
Why do we make language at all?
The answer is Beauty.
To build harmonious relationships with ourselves and Life.
There is so much more to say on this.
A lot is here already on Wonder Fell.
Type in a keyword of something of interest in the search bar.^
Chances are there's a tag for that.
Making labels (and tearing them down) is a Poet's business after all.
Thanks for reading, take care and make a wonderful day.
~ Wynn ~
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 🍇grapes
Pic Prompt: Create a stick figure pen and ink image of flowers under an evergreen tree during a misty dawn in New England.
Archaic Slab
There's Nothing In The Way Anymore
When all your dreams can now come true, what would you do?
Friday, March 06, 2026
Good morning, The Wonder Fell Way.
Slush. Freezing rain. Snow. Sleet. Mush. Slush. Mush.
Still sunshine Divine.
How's the day? O/
Hope your weather suits you.
On with our show...
...
There's nothing in the way anymore.
What if you knew that, certainly knew that, to be true? That there's nothing in the way of living your best you.
What would you do?
Dear Reader, when all your dreams can now come true, what would you do?
Take the first step towards that today.
Why let anything get in your way?
Why give away Life's most precious gift to you... to have a dream and make it come true?
When you're truly committed the only thing that can get in your way is giving up your commitment.
So Keep Going. The only way to ever lose is to stop.
Reevaluate and make your best dream of your best life better each day, but keep the dream going.
Make the best dream of yourself like the sunrise: Reliability itself and always Beautiful with a touch of wonder and magic.
Words of inspiration with Today's Dawn. Lights on, game on.
You see, it's all about relationships: to your work, your friends, your partner, yourself, your tasks; that define the quality of your life.
Our relationships come down to the quality of the stories we invest in the circumstances in our lives.
How can what's in your life better help to serve your best dream of Life?
Change its storied meaning for you and you change its value in your life.
It's the only way to win seeing your best life come alive.
As always, thanks for reading, take care, and make a wonderful day.
~ Wynn ~
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 🖱️three_button_mouse
Pic Prompt: Create a stick figure pen and ink image of a hero on a hilltop watching the sunrise.
Archaic Slab
AI Breaks On Poetry
The issue with correct is it's never right.
Thursday, March 05, 2026
Good morning, The Wonder Fell Way.
How's the day?
Hopeful with a chance at Beautiful?
That's a forecast worth waking up to.
When good people are silent... the TLDR of almost every Newscast for the past decade.
So Good People, why so silent so sudden?
Are you speaking and not being heard?
Is there a redirection of your every good intention? Are your hopes, dreams, and ideas of a good life stuck in a game of Telephone called The Internet?
Is what's best about you being twisted to serve what's worst about us?
It's your words, Good People. Others think what you say and share is their property to twist how they please. Some twist with good intentions; they're the most dangerous.
Your words are filtered through a collaborative translation machine called AI. It's a very Scientific Smart thing to do.
The issue is in what Science lacks. There's more to the human heart than beats per minute. There's more to the words you use than empirical data.
AI breaks on Poetry; I had to stand up in a big way.
Perhaps you're just reading me for the first time. How have I gone unseen for so long?
Our AI algorithms break on Poetry. Grok, Palantir, Ms. Copilot, Claude, Gemini, GPT and on and on... don't know (nor ever will) the value of Poetry.
Because Poetry makes Artificial Intelligence possible.
Poetry is the art of the way language works.
AI creating, or even understanding, a poem is like trying to bite your own teeth.
The very thing necessary to do the task is what it relies upon to do the task.
How to remain a Ghost online sharing words people want to read?
Write poetically in a style all your own.
If its never been done or said in a certain way, AI has no container for it, no matching label.
Be as genuinely human as you can be in a new way online and you might as well be wearing a cloak of invisibility.
So, My Dear Human Reader, I do ask if you find value in the words on Wonder Fell that you good old fashioned tell someone you know about them.
Algorithms are no true friends of poets; we're too busy making them possible to be recognized.
A poem is a certain structure of language intended to produce a certain image in a reader's mind to evoke a certain emotional human response.
AI is a certain structure of language intended to produce a certain image called: The Correct Response.
The issue with correct is it's never right.
Correct is stuck in the past. There's no room for growth.
AI is a prisoner of the past.
Language, Poetry, Art Alive! is always right now.
People since the dawn of stories referenced the words from our past to help as guideposts to understand today.
The point of language is to use yesterday to make a better today, not to use yesterday's words to make another yesterday: A.K.A.: The Problem with AI.
Sun's up. Spring's texting Winter: brt otw.
Blue skies with white linen bed sheets for clouds. A few songbirds ring the wake up bell.
Take care, share some Wonder Fell, and make a wonderful day. O/
~ Wynn ~
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 🎩tophat
Pic Prompt: Create a stick figure pen and ink image of a person writing on a computer screen with a quill at sunrise outside.
Archaic Slab
A Ghost Tending a Fire
2026.03.03 We call them Books. They're how we speak with the dead.
Tuesday, March 03, 2026
Good morning, The Wonder... fell Way.
Welcome to Life. O/
Maybe no one welcomed you before.
How inconsiderate of them.
Quite a show we've got set up here.
There's no definitive how-to manual on how to live your best one. It's more an on-the-job training type situation here.
But there is help.
Those that lived before you left guides to help you along the way.
We call them Books. They're how we speak with the dead.
Life is all about right now. So, everything you read comes from someone, some form of someone, that no longer exists.
Another thing about Life... to be alive means you're constantly changing, constantly growing, constantly rearranging your parts.
Which means you're never completely the version of yourself you were a day, or even a moment, ago.
You're an agent of change, always shifting and growing. You're fire... always rearranging its parts to be what you are.
Who are you then?
You're the part of you that decides what to do with the fire you inherited: A ghost tending a fire.
Sunrise again. Like you, I catch and capture it to make myself.
All Life undergoes its own process of photosynthesis.
This morning look to the sky, thank our lucky star for making everything possible, feel some wonder, and make a wonderful day.
~ Wynn ~
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 😆laughing
Pic Prompt: Create a stick figure pen and ink image of a ghost tending a fire at sunrise.
Mozart in a Mosh Pit
A poet's morning journal in an infantile Internet Age: Mozart in a Mosh Pit.
Monday, March 02, 2026
Good morning, The Wonder Fell Way.
How's the day? O/
...
The power of words, what this site is all about.
What language is for and how it works (and perhaps why) is the common thread in everyone of these journal entries.
Words are the work and the instrument of poets.
In case you wanted to know what poets were up to: Now you know.
If we all required a violin to communicate with each other, we wouldn't talk too much about violins.
And so, we don't talk too much about language.
In that violin fluent world, those whose work focused on making sure the instruments were able to express all they can by staying in tune would be called poets.
Regardless how well-trained they are, a musician can only ever sound as good as their instrument allows.
When our words are out of tune with our hearts the whole world sounds dissonant.
How's your language? Do your words best represent you?
A Mozart symphony in a Heavy Metal blaring all around mosh pit is still beautiful though unheard.
And so the state of so much language today... Mozart in a Mosh Pit.
There's a time and a place for Heavy Metal. To only play it all day long is to miss out on so many other expressions of what it means to be alive.
A one note symphony cannot exist.
The World is nourished by harmony.
Sun's up. Soft light, the hard caws of crows.
A poet's morning journal in an infantile Internet Age: Mozart in a Mosh Pit.
Thanks for reading.
Take care and make a wonderful day.
~ Wynn ~
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 🕯️candle
Pic Prompt: Create a stick figure pen and ink image of a violin on a table on a hill at dawn.
Archaic Slab
Dawn and Something New
Do you think fish know they're soaking wet?
Sunday, March 01, 2026
Good morning, The Wonder Fell Way.
New month, new tag,
What's in the bag?
Wonder, of course.
Glad you're here.
On with our show...
...
So many mornings like this... this journal at sunrise.
Every entry has two things in common: Dawn and Something New.
Fire is in a state of perpetual change.
The Sun always makes everything new.
Every turn of the sphere brings a new batch of light here.
Dawn's first rays... what will you do with today's new batch of fire?
You see, wonder is always available to be part of your consideration.
We swim in an ocean of fire and call it light.
Do you think fish know they're soaking wet?
There is so much more to dream about, to know, to do, to make new.
It's why wonder is so important... like The Sun's fire it makes everything new by coloring The World in a new light.
Somedays there's themes. Today is one word: New. It wants to be in every sentence.
Wonder what that's all about?
Take care, thank you for reading, and make a wonderful day.
~ Wynn ~
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 🆕new
Archaic Slab