A narrative is like a room on whose walls a number of false doors have been painted; while within the narrative, we have many apparent choices of exit, but when the author leads us to one particular door, we know it is the right one because it opens.
ANOTHER full-orbed year hath waned to-day,
And set in the irrevocable past,
And headlong whirled long Time’s winged blast
My fluttering rose of youth is borne away:
Ah rose once crimson with the blood of May,
A honeyed haunt where bees would break their fast,
I watch thy scattering petals flee aghast,
And all the flickering rose-lights turning grey.
Poor fool of life! plagued ever with thy vain
Regrets and futile longings! were the years
Not cups o’erbrimming still with gall and tears?
Let go thy puny personal joy and pain!
If youth with all its brief hope disappears,
To deathless hope we must be born again.
Been MIA with too many projects and commitments… but now that the dust is clearing post-election thoughts are swirling; Hutchins had some interesting insights worth rereading.
In the garden, Autumn is, indeed the crowning glory of the year, bringing us the fruition of months of thought and care and toil. And at no season, safe perhaps in Daffodil time, do we get such superb colour effects as from August to November. -Rose G. Kingsley The Autumn Garden
The Eat Local Challenge has started in our state this past Friday and runs until Sunday. It’s a ripe time within the season to put you money where your mouth and taste buds should be- straight to the source vs mega-agri-biz farms that have monopolized and literally ruined not only the soil and land, but generations of farmers that have tilled the Earth and provided for countess mouths and minds.
Raj Patel’sbook Stuffed and Starved and continued efforts are blazing nicely ahead and there is a nice tidbit over at Grist Millworth the read.
Bonne Appetite!
Never does nature say one thing and wisdom another.
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