Sod can get expensive.

Bludgeon

Rays of light were scattering through the dirt as the sun peaked over newly formed ridges that had risen up from wild ballistics originating a world away. Each new dawn brings with it its own surprises, as every day's beginning is a whole new set of beginnings. For now, placed on this spinning marble, the beginnings never end, and time is only stratified to keep an humanistic order. So rather than tin-wrapped discrete burrito servings, a dawn is smooth and flowing, a blanket without end continuously wrapped around this globe in the warming embrace of a partly-remembered history written down in burned out libraries and long buried rock strata.
So no beginning is universally more important than any other, but in the relative, disagreements are bound to occur. Especially this beginning, this dawn. Not an ordinary dawn in the sense of the disappearance of the night, as it is well into the morning. It is just the sun was so late because this dawn is witnessed from the depths of a hole still smoldering in the ground. The shadow of the crater's edge slowly slips away, and the visitor's hand reaches out in response to embrace this new and exciting dawn, full of opportunity and possibility. This is truly an important dawn indeed. Like every dawn, this one quickly slips to the next beginning. A spectacular beginning filled with discovery and surprises.
It is surprising how strong an empty wine bottle is when used as a bludgeon. Cutting short any initial fears of invasion, and taking the first crude steps toward understanding foreign anatomy, the local feels his dominance over the yard is secure. Well manicured lawns are a valuable commodity, and not something upon which one should tread lightly, or land irreverently. Of course, not all discoveries can be directly applied to future actions, but at least an effort at precedent was made.

Forbidden fruits in holy books

Forbidden

A tiny surge of exhilaration reinforced with tactile feedback starts a spark. A spark, a flash, a tiny bit of energy flashing through organic distributor cables, beginning the slow turn of an ancient gear. Moss and rust have grown thick in an unorthodox embrace, and both are eager to capitalize on hesitation. Momentum, the beast that cannot be created, cannot be denied and each tooth bites into its subsequent place. Each bit of progress catalyzes the next and the slow dopamine drip begins transmission across calcium waves. Long closed doors begin to open, pathways and desires reveal themselves anew with each turning page. This was unexpected, but far from unwelcome, this dusty new tome that brings renewal for old thoughts to be discovered and young ones to lead the way.

Prophecy beats reality.

Revelations

There's a certain satisfaction with the known, a certain confidence that arises at knowing the parabolic path of the cannonball. A tinge of pleasure inebriates our brains with subtle shooters of dopamine as simple similes replace understanding and predictability is taken for granted. In the drunken haze fantasy and reality are mixed, shaken and strained, until our pleasure is poured into a pristine tumbler, and our pleasure is served up neat. The 'tender smiles, and we're happy to partake, pondering an adequate tip. But the metaphor is wrong. The jazz dies away and the images melt, because a new piece of this puzzle has been found, and the fantasy no longer fits. Beyond black and white, beyond good and evil, there is much more detail that breaks the story down. The discovered piece reveals the existence of the infinitely possible unknown, with all its potentials and disappointments. So the fantasy is gone, in the most unsatisfactory of ways, and we find complacence was time wasted as we were only just beginning.