The fruit have rotted on the vine, in fact the vines have rotted on the ground, no more clinging, crawling forth from dark sacred places; abolished by sanctity, mortally wounded by technology. Is there no love for creation? It is written to "remain in the vine" and that "we are the branches"; every branch that does not bear fruit is cut while those that do are pruned to become more fruitful, but pruned by who or what. Toothy grins of politicians; the guard-ener has become careless; his actions no doubt clouded by corn syrup and aspartame, how many years will the garden survive full of weeds. Can hand held electronic devises and social media teach our children what it is to be a community and exist, fully conscious of the natural order of the earth; as if you could kill time without injuring eternity.