Fright night

The hottest Halloween in my whole life: when we should be having frosty mornings and crisp evenings--I remember wearing mittens while walking pumpkin-lit streets--we have summer heat, bone dry soil, and stressed out trees. This is scarier than any ghoul.

source: http://abc30.com/politics/governor-brown-declares-state-of-emergency-over-dying-trees-in-california-forests/1059914/

the creek whispers fear

haunted by the ghosts of trees

can't stop the burning

Skunk report

    I saw only one skunk today, in the same yard where I've been seeing them for a few weeks now. But such beauty. I am enchanted. The neighbors report that the skunks own the first 50 yards or so of the road, but past that, it's all raccoons.
    Now, I like to look at a raccoon as much as any wildlife appreciator, but there's nothing like opening a cabin door and being growled at by a semi-circle of masked marauders baring their teeth to ever think of attempting to have one as a pet, Sterling North's Rascal notwithstanding. (Yes, this happened to me.) I've also heard of too many people whose cute little raccoons grew up and one day, out of the blue, attacked them.
    So I will enjoy raccoons from a distance. Preferably through glass. And not leave cat food outside overnight anymore.
    Not that I'm thinking about making a pet of any non-domesticated animal. Most of the fun of seeing wild animals for me is that they are part of a place. That seeing them is (usually) a rare and wondrous privilege. For me, a skunk loses much of its skunkness if you de-gland it and snuggle with it on the couch. (I am being very careful to say "for me." It is obvious that other people don't feel this way.)

    Ach. What is that stench wafting through my window? Am I having a Wilderness Experience??

    I think I have said pretty much everything I need to say about skunks for the time being.

Distracting or fulfilling?

    I'm sitting here waiting for inspiration, but so far--nothing. I keep thinking about the abominable first draft that I'm attempting to squeeze in on Sundays and Monday evenings (my "days" off), which is more distracting than fulfilling. It's a story I started work on as a Na-No-Wri-Mo project two, maybe three years ago, but I thought was too difficult to continue. After all, how many adventure stories have a happily married husband and wife as the main characters, who meet some people who for lack of a better word, at least at first, they call elves, and it doesn't turn into a love triangle? Or quadrangle? Is it possible to meet elves and not be swept away by Glamour and Romance? Boy, I sure hope so. I'm not saying that the marriage wouldn't be put to the test, but the reasons need not be as simplistic as lust and possessive jealousy.
     I guess what I may be trying to do is find out what happens when enchantment comes to people who think they have aged out of all hope of adventure. Yes, adventure of the awful sort can fall upon one at any age--wars, earthquakes, flu epidemics--but if I wanted to write about these, I'd be a journalist. Perhaps I am simply an escapist of the Tolkienish persuasion:

Why should a man be scorned if, finding himself in prison, he tries to get out and go home? Or if, when he cannot do so, he thinks and talks about other topics than jailers and prison-walls? The world outside has not become less real because the prisoner cannot see it. In using escape in this way the critics have chosen the wrong word, and, what is more, they are confusing, not always by sincere error, the Escape of the Prisoner with the Flight of the Deserter.  

  (from "On Fairy Stories" by JRR Tolkien)

    I am not trying to shirk responsibilities or pretend that the world is less troubled than it is. I do want to find the ways in which the world is much more than it appears to be in the news. That there is some hope that working to help others and keep some green in the world will actually result in palpable good. I want to write, and read, about adventures of wonder, then come back to my real life with fresh eyes and the strength to face whatever life dishes up: better able to do the job in front of me. I'd also like to believe, to discover, that growing older doesn't mean watching the walls close in around you until all that is left is gray-haired you sitting in front of the TV watching Jeopardy.

    (I'm not casting aspersions about entertainment. That would be ironic, wouldn't it, to promote one kind of escape while dismissing someone else's favorite form of relaxation (and escape?). I just don't want a TV show to be the outer limit of my mental playground.)

    So I think I'll keep working on my story and see where it goes.

    I believe that I owe this entire post and my current train of thought to JRR Tolkien through the lens of  Patrick Curry, to whom I would like to say thank you.

Deep roots indeed

 

Ahh...my work table, I mean my kitchen table, is clean enough to mess up again. Halloween is only a week away, so I don't think I'll be working on costumes. There just isn't enough time.

I'm in the middle of several books right now. One of them is Deep Roots in a Time of Frost by Patrick Curry. This is the most intellectually challenging book I have read in a long, long time. It is a collection of essays of literary criticism more or less about Tolkien themes. I love this book so much! I love that I have to read it with a dictionary close at hand. I love that I have to read some paragraphs four or five times before I almost understand what he is trying to say. These essays are written for far more educated people than I, but if I strip out all the tangential clauses until I get down to the basic sentences, then add the clauses back one at a time, I find I can keep up. Did I already say that I love this book? Yeah, I think I did.

And this is what I do for fun when I'm too tired to write.