First off, the important things:
Or, in the world of the Lord of the Rings, it is Bilbo and Frodo's birthdays today. Indeed, I have been very remiss here, as this whole week has been Tolkien Week, and never a word have I said of it, 'til now. I did do a display of Tolkien books at the library, have worn my Tree of Gondor earrings every day this week, as well as my Argonath pin, whenever I have a collared shirt, allowing such excess. Beyond that, I have been reading Splintered Light, which is a very good book for appreciating Tolkien's theories of language and how he used them in the creation of his legendarium. And since it is the birthday of two such admirable and excellent hobbits, I intend to have a small glass of the very fine Connemara Whiskey I got in Ireland to celebrate the day.
And for the rest of this post:
As the very wise might have guessed from the Elvish salutation at the head of this post, Autumn has come and leaves like gold are falling…. Or rather, the pine needles like gold are falling… though, to be honest, Autumn pine needles tend to be a bit more copper than gold. Still, we must face it: Ah! Like gold fall the leaves! is far more poetic than, Ah! Like copper fall the pine needles… though, yet again, having just read that aloud in mine ain heid, I must say that I like the alliteration in “copper” and “pine”, as well as the sympathetic resonance of the “f” in “fall” against those other two…
Let us not be side-tracked. Autumn has come! This is a great relief to me, as the beginning of this month was most appallingly warm, with temperatures rivalling the hottest of summer days. I canna thole such weather. It is soul-destroying. But, the second week came, with an easing off of the temperatures. Though it was still summery weather, the evenings were cooler, and there was gold in the aspens – just a glimpse, a few bright coins amid the whispering green. And then the winds started, beautiful sea-loud winds, roaring in from the west, driving great tumbles of clouds before them. The skies were a rush of gleam and shadow. Rains came, and hail-storms. The air was redolent with the smell of wet earth and pine. Between the storms, the sun shone, pleasantly warm, but no longer hot, and there was an edge to the wind.
As usual, I contracted my yearly case of Autumn wanderlust, and take to the hills as often as I can. (Perhaps, due to the cruel vagaries of Life, I have been a bit more motivated than usual to turn my face to the mountains—and for that matter, the meadows and the streams—from whence cometh my hope. Who can say? It is no matter of concern to this entry, whatever.) The result is sketches in my book, such as the following.
It is also, occasionally, the opportunity for pictures, taken with the crappy little camera on my ancient flip phone… when I remember to take it with me (which is seldom, as I part of the joy of rambling is to be incommunicado) and further remember that it is there, and can be used to capture the moment. Sometimes, the crappy little camera does better than anticipated. Behold:
And that, my friends, while not exactly an explanation for the months of silence since the poetry contest (Perhaps the hitherto mentioned cruel vagaries of Life are to blame?) it does, at least, show that, despite turning into a wandering maniac, who regularly unnerves the populace by following the aberrant flight of a butterfly, in view of a beach full of vacationers, I have not managed to fall into holes, nor drown in streams, nor become stuck in quicksand, nor walked off cliffs. That might not seem so big a thing to you, but to me, it is enough.
Or, in the world of the Lord of the Rings, it is Bilbo and Frodo's birthdays today. Indeed, I have been very remiss here, as this whole week has been Tolkien Week, and never a word have I said of it, 'til now. I did do a display of Tolkien books at the library, have worn my Tree of Gondor earrings every day this week, as well as my Argonath pin, whenever I have a collared shirt, allowing such excess. Beyond that, I have been reading Splintered Light, which is a very good book for appreciating Tolkien's theories of language and how he used them in the creation of his legendarium. And since it is the birthday of two such admirable and excellent hobbits, I intend to have a small glass of the very fine Connemara Whiskey I got in Ireland to celebrate the day.
And for the rest of this post:
As the very wise might have guessed from the Elvish salutation at the head of this post, Autumn has come and leaves like gold are falling…. Or rather, the pine needles like gold are falling… though, to be honest, Autumn pine needles tend to be a bit more copper than gold. Still, we must face it: Ah! Like gold fall the leaves! is far more poetic than, Ah! Like copper fall the pine needles… though, yet again, having just read that aloud in mine ain heid, I must say that I like the alliteration in “copper” and “pine”, as well as the sympathetic resonance of the “f” in “fall” against those other two…
Let us not be side-tracked. Autumn has come! This is a great relief to me, as the beginning of this month was most appallingly warm, with temperatures rivalling the hottest of summer days. I canna thole such weather. It is soul-destroying. But, the second week came, with an easing off of the temperatures. Though it was still summery weather, the evenings were cooler, and there was gold in the aspens – just a glimpse, a few bright coins amid the whispering green. And then the winds started, beautiful sea-loud winds, roaring in from the west, driving great tumbles of clouds before them. The skies were a rush of gleam and shadow. Rains came, and hail-storms. The air was redolent with the smell of wet earth and pine. Between the storms, the sun shone, pleasantly warm, but no longer hot, and there was an edge to the wind.
As usual, I contracted my yearly case of Autumn wanderlust, and take to the hills as often as I can. (Perhaps, due to the cruel vagaries of Life, I have been a bit more motivated than usual to turn my face to the mountains—and for that matter, the meadows and the streams—from whence cometh my hope. Who can say? It is no matter of concern to this entry, whatever.) The result is sketches in my book, such as the following.
It is also, occasionally, the opportunity for pictures, taken with the crappy little camera on my ancient flip phone… when I remember to take it with me (which is seldom, as I part of the joy of rambling is to be incommunicado) and further remember that it is there, and can be used to capture the moment. Sometimes, the crappy little camera does better than anticipated. Behold:
And that, my friends, while not exactly an explanation for the months of silence since the poetry contest (Perhaps the hitherto mentioned cruel vagaries of Life are to blame?) it does, at least, show that, despite turning into a wandering maniac, who regularly unnerves the populace by following the aberrant flight of a butterfly, in view of a beach full of vacationers, I have not managed to fall into holes, nor drown in streams, nor become stuck in quicksand, nor walked off cliffs. That might not seem so big a thing to you, but to me, it is enough.
1 comment:
Well, I am terribly behind on reading this--I didn't know you had sketchbook pictures up here. They are absolutely a delight to behold.
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