tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65854812828227919612024-03-13T05:53:28.909-05:00Swedish ImmigrantAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.comBlogger740125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-38752993777520004612016-02-05T08:38:00.001-06:002016-02-05T09:28:09.378-06:00The Blue Coat<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I bought this wool coat in the secondhand shop in Vännäsby. The worst of the winter cold seems to have passed, and this coat is perfect for the middling snow. In related news, I'm wearing my grandmother's beret.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-54569321973445953552015-12-12T04:35:00.001-06:002015-12-12T04:41:54.602-06:00Mizzle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The day I took these pictures I learned a new word: my Cornish friend Mimi held out a hand to the rain and declared it a <i>mizzle</i>--somewhere between mist and a drizzle.<br />
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The poor, wet pigeon</div>
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A walk along the River Avon </div>
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It was a cold, wet day, one of my last in Bath. I took a walk to say goodbye to the city. I find goodbyes just as important as hellos, because they mean you agreed to an end.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-522453452375610602015-07-28T11:15:00.002-05:002015-07-28T11:30:22.129-05:00Not-So-Literary London<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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This is Ben Reeson. He's Australian, hence the troubled expression, and he possesses a strangely encyclopaedic knowledge of London architecture. Last year, I took him on a less-than-worthy tour of Singapore's grand marina, and on my recent trip to London, he showed me the highlights in a brisk caper through Buckingham, Whitehall, Southbank, and Trafalgar Square.</div>
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The little house that didn't fit </div>
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In some parts of the world, Ben is known as "Cheekbones" Reeson. </div>
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A pair of brothers eyed me disdainfully from the wall. </div>
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And finally, at the end of the day, a view from Primrose Hill</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-86186221087663012072015-07-28T08:34:00.002-05:002015-07-28T08:42:37.888-05:00Dyrham Park<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Technically I've had four housemates this year, two of which rarely occupy their rooms. While Rachel has been a constant, Yaya has been in London and Emily in Birmingham and beyond. On a rare occasion where (most of) our paths crossed, we decided on a picnic outing at Dyrham Park.<br />
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Dyrham Park was partly closed due to renovations. Instead, special tours along the rooftop had been organized to allow visitors a glimpse of the work in progress. I'd recommend this experience. </div>
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The grounds are magnificent</div>
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and the tea garden ain't too shabby either. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-9343594937662868912015-07-28T07:42:00.002-05:002015-07-28T12:22:22.768-05:00Literary London<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My friends, so many things have happened in the past few months. I have been everywhere from Durham to Wales, and have been visited by <strike>three ghosts</strike> a retinue of friends from Sweden and Singapore. Here. Look at my pictures.<br />
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I went to London with my Londonian friend Katie. We stayed at her parents' house in Lewisham. </div>
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She comes from a very literary family and loves books with all her heart, Charles Dickens in particular. To her name, she has three first editions: <i>Little Dorrit, Dombey and Son</i>, and <i>Nicholas Nickleby</i>. Her family owns <i>Our Mutual Friend</i>. </div>
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We would begin our days with tea and honey toast in the bright kitchen. </div>
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Her mother and father both enjoy gardening, but her father is the one to tend the roses. He once went around London with a bag of hollyhock seeds and planted them wherever he saw fit. His wife calls it "guerilla gardening." </div>
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For our first day out on our literary tour of London, I dressed appropriately. </div>
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In the Dickens Museum </div>
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Trying on Victorian hats and dresses </div>
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We had tea and cake in the museum garden.</div>
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London requires lots of traveling by the underground. After the Dickens Museum, we managed a trip to the Museum of London before our feet gave out. I would highly recommend it just for the Victorian walkthhrough and World War II display. I almost bought a top hat in the souvenir shop, but settled for a quill pen.</div>
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We visited Borough Market the next morning, the oldest and largest food market in London.</div>
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The buildings were built in 1851, but the market itself dates back several hundred years.</div>
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After Borough Market, we walked along the Thames to Covent Garden. </div>
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We met all sorts of people along the way.</div>
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I suppose no trip to Covent Garden is complete without a stop at the Moomin Shop.<br />
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This cashier and I had a nice chat. </div>
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"Who's your favourite character?" he asks.</div>
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"Snufkin," I say without hesitation. </div>
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He rolls up his sleeve. "Me too." </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-91214441139977144582015-05-16T16:41:00.004-05:002015-08-25T13:36:29.503-05:00Hannah<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My friend Hannah likes to draw. I asked her if she had any pictures she'd like to share, and here they are. My personal favourite is the girl with the umbrella.<br />
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Perhaps a Singapore reimagined?</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-71129512929101911182015-05-15T09:27:00.001-05:002015-05-15T17:51:10.306-05:00Welsh Wellies<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #666666; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #666666; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; white-space: pre-wrap;">This is one of my favourite pictures ever. This is Ben (left) and Harry (right) in a fish and chip shop in Oddown, looking over flyers for Bargain Booze. Ben is from Wales, and he represents England in clay pigeon shooting. I asked him why that was. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; white-space: pre-wrap;">"My mum is Welsh," he informed me. "My dad is English. When I was deciding which team to shoot for, I was told I'd be a better shot in England because I'd be pushed to get in the team. There are loads of great juniors."</span></span><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; white-space: pre-wrap;">See those wellies Ben's wearing? One time he was on a pheasant shoot in North Wales, the Brigands estate, and after the first day of shooting, one of the guns didn't like Ben's old, muddy wellies from the local farm store. In fact, it bothered the man so much that he bought Ben a new pair of Le Chameau well</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; white-space: pre-wrap;">ies worth </span></span><span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">£300 and had them delivered to the hotel the next day. </span></span></span><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; line-height: 15.3599996566772px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Here you go," he said. "Just don't ever wear those other ones out shooting again."</span></span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-46233383269096238412015-05-13T17:25:00.000-05:002015-05-14T20:02:16.628-05:00A Brighter Age<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Sham ruins at Corsham. Every fashionable estate has them.</div>
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Green haze of day</div>
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You only come close because I feed you highland shortbread. </div>
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Katie, on a walk<br />
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And the evening light</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-92220601864108714512015-05-13T17:08:00.000-05:002015-05-13T17:30:35.809-05:00A Windy Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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...and my laundry's on the ground.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-35022887356452384412015-05-13T17:06:00.002-05:002015-05-13T17:06:34.157-05:00Before the Rain<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I can hear the rain on the kitchen roof.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-83988106889035758232015-05-13T16:53:00.003-05:002015-05-13T16:53:29.113-05:00Front Garden<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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As promised, here are the pictures of our front garden. It was a mess.</div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">Weeds</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1gJ5AO4e4FY/VVPEIsbSWQI/AAAAAAAAJog/8sa0A3oMtMo/s1600/IMG_5203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1gJ5AO4e4FY/VVPEIsbSWQI/AAAAAAAAJog/8sa0A3oMtMo/s640/IMG_5203.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aFurfqDj9HE/VVPHjGlcHmI/AAAAAAAAJpc/mDrz0WuuQ_o/s1600/DSC_6272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aFurfqDj9HE/VVPHjGlcHmI/AAAAAAAAJpc/mDrz0WuuQ_o/s640/DSC_6272.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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And a few hours later...</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RZnHhooeLHA/VVPHlF8r6zI/AAAAAAAAJpk/NWlxovEF724/s1600/DSC_6274.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RZnHhooeLHA/VVPHlF8r6zI/AAAAAAAAJpk/NWlxovEF724/s640/DSC_6274.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e80ZQNyxd4s/VVPEm25COKI/AAAAAAAAJpI/iJIVGZMtDbY/s1600/DSC_6271.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e80ZQNyxd4s/VVPEm25COKI/AAAAAAAAJpI/iJIVGZMtDbY/s640/DSC_6271.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Done.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-53462810811814099532015-05-11T06:48:00.002-05:002015-05-11T07:03:14.450-05:00A Week in Pictures<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KVomSgh56xM/VVCNM3lYAiI/AAAAAAAAJm8/1BwQVwjao54/s1600/IMG_5224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KVomSgh56xM/VVCNM3lYAiI/AAAAAAAAJm8/1BwQVwjao54/s640/IMG_5224.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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This is the sight that most usually greets me on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. There are peacocks on the lawn of the manor, and in the spirit of spring, they are spreading their tailfeathers to attract the ladies. The peahens are generally less interested. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WHE8Qtlu1WY/VVCNOXtgK2I/AAAAAAAAJnE/CbsSQvJd3MA/s1600/IMG_5157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WHE8Qtlu1WY/VVCNOXtgK2I/AAAAAAAAJnE/CbsSQvJd3MA/s640/IMG_5157.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="640" /></a></div>
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On Tuesday I took a walk around the grounds before my poetry class. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gEZAJrEAUV4/VVCNa_55QSI/AAAAAAAAJnk/PbLko1DvFk4/s1600/IMG_5202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gEZAJrEAUV4/VVCNa_55QSI/AAAAAAAAJnk/PbLko1DvFk4/s640/IMG_5202.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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On Saturday, the enigmatic Emily Q. and I went to the garden centre to buy some flowers for our weedy front garden. It's all done now--plucked of weeds, earth turned, and flowers planted--and even a bumble bee was enjoying the peonies this morning. </div>
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I'll post an updated picture of the garden later. I tried to take one today, but when I stepped outside, the door slammed shut suddenly, and I was locked out my house! Thankfully, my neighbour was just parking his car, and he asked me if any of my housemates could let me back in. </div>
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"One is in London," I told him, "one in Birmingham, and one's in school."</div>
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"And your landlord?"</div>
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"He's in Malaysia."</div>
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We chatted for a bit about flowers (he told me the front garden looked lovely), and then he and his wife let me in to call a locksmith. I then remembered I had probably left my back door open, and they let me run down to the end of their garden, squeeze through the fence, and cross the next garden to get into mine. All's well that end's well. I should send them a thank you note. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lsAH-sdBpg4/VVCNU0SPZdI/AAAAAAAAJnM/9pJr4KTcrTQ/s1600/IMG_5209.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lsAH-sdBpg4/VVCNU0SPZdI/AAAAAAAAJnM/9pJr4KTcrTQ/s640/IMG_5209.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Emily Q. was defeated by ironing. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D7GiA89Bzyo/VVCNhEs15kI/AAAAAAAAJoM/CeQxgvnbnEk/s1600/IMG_5170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D7GiA89Bzyo/VVCNhEs15kI/AAAAAAAAJoM/CeQxgvnbnEk/s640/IMG_5170.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Ben Reeson came to visit unexpectedly. He messaged me on Facebook. </div>
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"I'll be in Bath in ten minutes. You around?"</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q8NJg_eW-fA/VVCNdpOIz4I/AAAAAAAAJn8/p3oRynRJ9uo/s1600/IMG_5185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q8NJg_eW-fA/VVCNdpOIz4I/AAAAAAAAJn8/p3oRynRJ9uo/s640/IMG_5185.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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He took this picture. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kk2NgeT2Y6M/VVCNY_fIRAI/AAAAAAAAJnU/i75zPa1IAnQ/s1600/IMG_5220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kk2NgeT2Y6M/VVCNY_fIRAI/AAAAAAAAJnU/i75zPa1IAnQ/s640/IMG_5220.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Yesterday I walked home from church. I always pass through the Bath artisan market, and there are always interesting things on display. I like to browse slowly through the wares, and I stopped at a honey stand, where a woman sold honey soaps, beeswax candles, honey fudge, and honey. She had brought her bees with her and encoouraged me to join my local beekeeping society and take some classes. I've become more interested in beekeeping of late. Not sure why. I find it all very fascinating. I would love to keep my own and collect honey to give to friends. But my future remains uncertain. I'm not sure where I'll be living after this year, though the prospect of buying a cottage in the country and keeping bees and chickens and growing my own lettuce sounds more and more inviting. Anyone else have such visions?</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v0PbPcp8aOU/VVCNbkG0b3I/AAAAAAAAJno/YVqHpklG3oc/s1600/IMG_5223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v0PbPcp8aOU/VVCNbkG0b3I/AAAAAAAAJno/YVqHpklG3oc/s640/IMG_5223.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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After the Bee Lady, I talked to a woman selling reproductions maps, all printed on sturdy, cotton canvas (no paper). There was one map in particular that interested me--a reprint of a sailing ship from the 1700s, with all its parts labeled. I collect maps (in Conway, I bought a map marked with all the shipwrecks off the coast of Wales), and you may know already that I love ships. Map Woman also unrolled a beautiful picture of tropical birds, originally a French hand-painted piece from the 1800s. Ships, maps, birds. Best combination ever. My love of birds grows daily as well. I hope to come across a baby crow and raise it as my own in the aforementioned country cottage. </div>
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I didn't buy them this time, but can't you see them hanging in my imaginary house? </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KmfKttqGX7c/VVCNcCLyTjI/AAAAAAAAJnw/osqYIeQnOn0/s1600/IMG_5221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KmfKttqGX7c/VVCNcCLyTjI/AAAAAAAAJnw/osqYIeQnOn0/s640/IMG_5221.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Other things at the market: vintage book lamp stands. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZgZ8Qxl1DKA/VVCNd0TsYfI/AAAAAAAAJoA/hlcTySxyFmg/s1600/IMG_5222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZgZ8Qxl1DKA/VVCNd0TsYfI/AAAAAAAAJoA/hlcTySxyFmg/s640/IMG_5222.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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And Rapunzel. Just because.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-58588310336218632262015-04-10T04:46:00.002-05:002015-04-10T04:50:41.855-05:00Siblings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kDhsX_ztV8E/VLRkpLQIFrI/AAAAAAAAJb4/iWKmuf_dxgM/s1600/DSC_5561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kDhsX_ztV8E/VLRkpLQIFrI/AAAAAAAAJb4/iWKmuf_dxgM/s1600/DSC_5561.JPG" height="428" width="640" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-82115095273498906002015-04-10T04:46:00.000-05:002015-04-10T04:46:00.687-05:00Snowing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pcJDdZCiIKM/VLRkVd1-GXI/AAAAAAAAJbo/KZOdMDn1_vE/s1600/DSC_5543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pcJDdZCiIKM/VLRkVd1-GXI/AAAAAAAAJbo/KZOdMDn1_vE/s1600/DSC_5543.JPG" height="428" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GDDdlrFyMFg/VLRkVb64lVI/AAAAAAAAJbs/i5nXBCzvePs/s1600/DSC_5544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GDDdlrFyMFg/VLRkVb64lVI/AAAAAAAAJbs/i5nXBCzvePs/s1600/DSC_5544.JPG" height="428" width="640" /></a></div>
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Again, more unpublished pictures from three months back.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-58992858182125935842015-04-10T04:45:00.000-05:002015-04-10T04:51:22.205-05:00Snow<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_ySv6z177Jc/VLRhuy4AF1I/AAAAAAAAJaI/u_ocNV49VRw/s1600/DSC_5466.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_ySv6z177Jc/VLRhuy4AF1I/AAAAAAAAJaI/u_ocNV49VRw/s1600/DSC_5466.JPG" height="428" width="640" /></a></div>
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I took these during winter but forgot to publish them. Hope you don't mind the delay.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4BcN6D6OaYY/VLRhwx3f9kI/AAAAAAAAJaU/j0WwvUs8l_A/s1600/DSC_5482.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4BcN6D6OaYY/VLRhwx3f9kI/AAAAAAAAJaU/j0WwvUs8l_A/s1600/DSC_5482.JPG" height="428" width="640" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-67683394006788046982015-04-10T04:42:00.000-05:002015-04-10T04:42:15.733-05:00From Winter's Bourne<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-7352154506400422962015-04-10T04:40:00.002-05:002015-04-10T05:05:19.861-05:00Cold<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Dw_rpOsCNn0/VLRhbO1MdVI/AAAAAAAAJZY/iZxIxRnB9h0/s1600/DSC_5407.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Dw_rpOsCNn0/VLRhbO1MdVI/AAAAAAAAJZY/iZxIxRnB9h0/s1600/DSC_5407.JPG" height="428" width="640" /></a></div>
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I write odes to the north's past winter. There are no words in its cold heart to describe its beauty. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-79509524132283104712015-04-10T04:40:00.001-05:002015-04-10T04:50:25.605-05:00Tree People<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This morning at nine o'clock, I was woken by my mother's call. "Sanni!" (She is the only one to call me that.) She neglected to mention what she was bringing my attention to, and it was only an hour later I understood what she meant. The tree people were in our yard: friends who had come to take down the trees throwing shadows over everything.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a7j8ba_1thI/VSeZOBW92eI/AAAAAAAAJmA/zDb8h_HbGls/s1600/DSC_6207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a7j8ba_1thI/VSeZOBW92eI/AAAAAAAAJmA/zDb8h_HbGls/s1600/DSC_6207.JPG" height="428" width="640" /></a></div>
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This is my friend's father. </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t58tFxeRgAQ/VSeZN2u4u5I/AAAAAAAAJl8/uY7lZFxFaqA/s1600/DSC_6210.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t58tFxeRgAQ/VSeZN2u4u5I/AAAAAAAAJl8/uY7lZFxFaqA/s1600/DSC_6210.JPG" height="428" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hwHlWY6M7JY/VSeZOHl7x8I/AAAAAAAAJmY/9qH-hvp2a7s/s1600/DSC_6224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hwHlWY6M7JY/VSeZOHl7x8I/AAAAAAAAJmY/9qH-hvp2a7s/s1600/DSC_6224.JPG" height="428" width="640" /></a></div>
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I want to learn how to use a chainsaw. </div>
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Per-Eric explaining something to my father.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-68243663211665864422015-04-09T10:00:00.000-05:002015-04-09T16:48:58.803-05:00Morning and Evening<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Games in the evening </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OSs_KVGu3a0/VSaDqzIZ7fI/AAAAAAAAJlA/rjZMdLUzy1g/s1600/DSC_6181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OSs_KVGu3a0/VSaDqzIZ7fI/AAAAAAAAJlA/rjZMdLUzy1g/s1600/DSC_6181.JPG" height="428" width="640" /></a></div>
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Stretches in the morning </div>
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Mamma's birthday! </div>
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Sofia trying out my mom's cover trousers from the eighties. Mamma said she last wore them when she was pregnant with Joel.</div>
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One evening the little face of a curious cat looked in through the window, and in the morning we found its tracks on the hard crust of snow.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-68527971535986530852015-04-09T08:47:00.003-05:002015-05-16T06:25:18.383-05:00Outfit of the Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Sofia was, by a long shot, the best dressed. The rest of us wore whatever we could find in the big pile of trousers, jackets, mittens and scarves from the seventies. </div>
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Joel wanted to get in on the fun.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-23110487441630456252015-04-09T08:43:00.001-05:002015-04-09T08:43:41.750-05:00Mountain High<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I just came back from a mountain holiday with my family. We lived in a little red cabin in the snow. </div>
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We're pretty sure all the furniture was made by hand. Isn't this the prettiest cloth? </div>
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The wallpaper in the tiny master bedroom </div>
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Brother Joel and Jacob tried out the kiddie beds. </div>
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This was my glamorous outfit for four days. Ain't I spiffy?</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-47280862461513262202015-02-17T18:03:00.000-06:002015-02-17T18:30:48.472-06:00In the Mail<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My mother sent me my retainers a few weeks ago with a note. I don't remember the exact contents of the message, only that it was brief, something close to "Here you go. Love, Mamma." Where was the superfluous show of affection?<br />
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For years I've watched my American friends unwrap their care packages and pull out peach rings and vitamins, chewing gum, Kool Aid, and Twizzlers from their boxes like some unending magic trick. Care packages aren't a Swedish thing: we're a hardy people, a nation of stiff upper lips and personal space. We have no need for such showy displays of--UNDERWEAR! LONG UNDERWEAR! My mamma sent me LONG JOHNS to keep me warm in these dratted British houses. AND SOCKS AND SOUP AND CHOCOLATE!<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-69742967282119455352015-02-16T17:54:00.000-06:002015-02-16T18:28:45.627-06:00Weston-super-Mare<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Today I went to the seaside. My friend Katie is writing a novel composed of short stories which take place in a cafe in a declinging seatown. On Friday we wondered: why not <i>really</i> go to the seaside to see what we can see? Said and done. We looked up train times and dedided that yes, Monday would be a good day, and off we went!<br />
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Katie in sneakers, me in my new boots</div>
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It rained.</div>
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The first glimpse of the iron sea </div>
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Gazebos along the shoreline </div>
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Pose, I said, and he did. </div>
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It was a cold day, a wet day. I hesitate to call it spring when it felt so much like winter. Still the lonely shores were comforting. Despite the blustery weather, I found my thoughts turning towards sunny Singapore. Something about the architecture, the wrough-iron gates and fences, the manicured promenade of Weston-super-Mare made me think of Sentosa in its olden, golden days. #bringbackthemonorail</div>
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We had arrived in time for lunch and we dined at the Victorian Cafe. </div>
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We had a laugh at the fudge boxes. Gran's box has flowers, Grandad's has classic cars and trains, and Dad's toffee box has a set of golf clubs, a soccer ball, and a drag racing car. My dad wouldn't like any of those, and I'm pretty sure I'm more into classic cars and steam engines than my grandpappy ever was. </div>
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Fish and chips! What else?</div>
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And mushy peas. Because it's England and I had to try.</div>
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Then we worked on manuscripts.</div>
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We bought donuts and I asked the donut guy to get a picture of us. </div>
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We took a walk along the shore and found fresh adventures. </div>
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And then we chanced upon an abandoned pier. Since its closure in 1972, there have been several attempts at its revival but nothing has been done. It lingers under people's good intentions. </div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It cries in rust,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
arthritic knees creak under wind.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Can I see the doctor now?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
No?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Then when?</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
And at long last, the clouds turned whispy and broke apart because after rain comes sun, always. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-7766459773501851502015-02-09T18:35:00.002-06:002015-02-09T18:35:39.643-06:00Two Poems<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My former student Ellie found a poem in a kid's poetry book called I Saw Esau, and it pleased me so much I had to share it with you all.<br />
<br />
The rain it raineth all around<br />
upon the just and unjust fella<br />
but chiefly on the just because<br />
the unjust stole the just's umbrella<br />
<br />
And for good measure, I give you the poem I put together when I should have been working on my manuscript.<br />
<br />
Kate eats cakes quickly<br />
but sweets slowly,<br />
and I eat plum jam<br />
because I can<br />
<br />
<br />
What's your best poem of the day?<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6585481282822791961.post-37230451491175723922015-02-08T15:54:00.000-06:002015-02-08T16:04:48.825-06:00Legend<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A friend asked me the other day if I wrote any poetry. I took a poetry class a few years ago, and the teacher advised us in the well-mangled epithet to "write what you know," so I spent most of the time submitting poems about dragons. I branched out once and wrote a sestina about whales. While I would love for my work to be validated by a recognized poetry journal, I had a hard time finding one with a category dedicated to earth's great flying mammals. </span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Legend</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">It was the day that hung in perfect
agony under<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">the heavens, and the sun sank its claws
into the plains and cast<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">an unfamiliar light into the world; the birds
fell silent in the red.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">The earth, arrested in its turning,
trembled at the sudden sound<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">of wing-beats in the east—the dark and
dreaded sky-whales<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">had returned to face the dragons and
mock them in their keep,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">and now they numbered endless on the horizon,
all eager to keep<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">pace with their gold-gilded leaders,
sworn into allegiance under<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">oaths strictly taken at the Great
Gathering in the north to sound<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">the depths of their devotion to the
tribe. They flew, minds overcast<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">by tight tremors of war—silent, swaying,
brine-crusted war-whales,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">strapped with silver helmets, delicately
hammered with scrolls; red <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">war-paint around their eyes and down their
curving spines; more red<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">around each fluke, drawn in twisting
loops and circles, to keep<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">with old traditions. Blowholes, too,
were marked on each whale,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">according to their rank, and pressed ‘round
with gold. And under<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">each fin, leather lashed a metal strip
onto its edge, a shield cast<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">in the hot mountain-fires of the north. A
hollow, steady sound<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">beat out across the land; whale-tongues
clicked, a martial sound<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">that throbbed inside their hollow
bodies, pulsing, a red<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">drumming that echoed through the air.
The smallest ones, cast<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">in doubt by their small size, were made to earn their keep<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">in other ways. They bore the banners,
belted tightly under<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">their bellies, and held the flags—a
crimson whale<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">emblazoned on a golden cloth. As they approached, a wail<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">rose up from among the mountains, a
terrifying sound<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">that lifted from the land’s bourne like
a ghost under<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">the beat of the war-drums. A winged serpent,
red<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">and silver scaled, rose up—a lowly
guard, ordered to keep<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">watch over their borderlands, hissed and
quickly cast<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">his eyes out to the sea; his wings beat fast, and he cast</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">away his post and darted back towards the
mount. The whales</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">soared over the spray of the ocean,
stilling their ranks to keep<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">to their call. In unison, they swooped
low to cross the sound,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">glittering in the sun, a low murmur with
every stroke of their red-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">stained wings—the stillness before the
storm, the under-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">tow beneath the waves. The keep was
emptied; the dragons cast<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: inherit;">themselves up, a surge from underneath
the earth, up, up against the whales.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Thunder deafened the air—a great sound—and
the blood ran red.</span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Have your dragon poems been overlooked too, fragile poet? </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Send them to me and we can rejoice together. </span></span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01013295478830378767noreply@blogger.com2