Thursday, March 12, 2009
Most afternoons, when bugs were young and drifted snow piled deeply all day, we'd hunker down under a common blanket, properly sandwiched. With paper words and pencils we'd draw straight through towards evening, making up stories, the ones that mood dictated..
(...and the mood always dictated)
One would have a take on WHY the dragon scorched the villagers season after season.
Another would feel compelled to drum up the smells of the scorched peasants, with lavishly obscure names while detailing the costumes and complicated quests.
The third, Cougar, youngest and most loquacious of all, would give voice to her vindicating girl hero. Cougar's valiant maids always rose victorious, upsetting One and Another by chancing cliche and repetition and prospective audience.
As the lamp wicks flickered low and effective, the tale would charge on, industrious, and roiling.
From out beyond the veil, held breath listening to a noise familiar. A thin, squealing, insipid tone. The wheedling whine of liquid sucking for air. Jerry jug grip, tightly tilted for the nightly fuel, the engine caught and spluttered to life.
Then followed grand clomping stomping of snow laden boots and bashing against the door.
Muscles bulged around quarters of spruce and hemlock, mere warmth for the evening as Poppa walked through the door.
Evening's electric light vanquished the dragon's spell, suspended now as words from the dance drifted off, past opening credits of that night's movie.
Things would pick up again. Later with lights out. We'd build up the fire and all tuck in.
Dream new material for the following day.
(linked in the title is a connection to Bent Lorentensen from Denmark and his report from the recent conference in Copenhagen on global climate change. Well worth reading.
Also, Gather science writer, David K. shared this article on the conference with really fine additional links. Take a look at his Dake Page as well with the RSS feed provided to the left.)
We're getting a sharper picture as the coils tighten.