BelongingMy older sister's blog
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Gixxer For ChristMy brother's blog
Grantian FlorilegiumDr. Grant: literary, bibliophile, wordsmithy, and professor
Blog and MablogPastor and professor in Moscow, Idaho
A Proverb A DayShort daily expositions and applications of a Proverb
The Evantine AbbeyMy former landlord, self-proclaimed futilitarian
Roots by the RiverThe elder Wilson, providing practical encouragement to Christian living
Christus RexHe's masculine during the week and feminine on Sundays
Trozzort's TalesGot married, cut travel time to church by 75%
Blog of NashThe Nashes like football and their kids
Joy in the Journey
Has cute kids.
Pointyshoes87Those funny stories aren't made up
Filled With TruthAdventures and thoughts of a Christian country girl
Danger BlogSeeing the glory of God in the ordinary
Sacra DoctrinaTheology and family of Joel Garver
A MinorCommunity-oriented blogger
This Classical LifeYoung family living the classical life
A Cup of RichFellow Celto-phile
Sir JakeHe's happily taken
UnrivenThe writer, student, and Chicago style pizza lover
Gulf CoastalBeside the sea
The High PostClever Christian chaps, triumvirate of family men
Wittenberg HallDiscussing Christianity and beer
Weighing GlorySomewhere chasing his hat
Down To A Sunless SeaWhen Florida and Minnesota collide
Crash Into MeNo problems with authority
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Remembered
Another day was receding into twilight, a fiery orange and purple sunset having passed and given way to a lingering noncommittal blue-grey. Huddling in my coat, my gaze bent down at the rocks in the path at my feet, I hurried home from another afternoon at the university. I quickly ascended the three steps from the busy sidewalk, oblivious to the workmen trudging home and the early revellers in evening wear, and turned the key in the lock of my apartment door.
I entered the shadowy interior of my home, shut the door behind me and tossed my worn cap on the coatstand, flicking on the kitchen light. Across the shadowy fringes of the weak light's circle my gaze fell across a massive mound of white, a giant wolf-like dog sitting back on its hind legs, yet still taller than my kitchen counters, unnaturally serene. I owned no pets. But somehow the dog's presence did not startle me. Nor was I particularly surprised when it spoke, a deep growling voice, rich in clarity, but tinged with mystery and ferocity.
"My master has been waiting to speak with you" he announced in a mildly accusing and mournful tone. The weight of ages seemed to impress itself on me with the sound of his voice. I was in a Presence. Unearthly, or at least not very London-ish.
His master. I turned towards the glow of the roaring fireplace, its cold shadows advancing shifting shapes across the unswept stone floor. Hunched beside the fire, sitting heavily on a wooden bench, reedy pipe protruding from clenched teeth, was a giant. His skin was earthy green, his hair long and unkempt, bits of twig and leaf in his long beard, and his clothes were of a leafy essence. His limbs were thick, the veins of the powerful arms sticking out and dividing his skin into sections of a bark-like texture. He was ancient, a lord of the forest. I recognized him as a Green Man. When had he entered?
Slowly the Green Man's massive head turned, his black eyes fixing on me as if noticing me for the first time. He removed his pipe and grinned widely. "Ah, Seamus!" he roared cheerily. "Come, sit by the fire. The evening is chill and the embers warm, these neglected flames have much to say!" He spoke with a deep rumble that shook the plaster walls of the apartment, his merry laugh the crack of rocks tumbling down a hillside. Mechanically I took a seat on the stool opposite him.
"So," he said, slapping a knee that resembled the knot of an oak, "tell me what you have been doing these past years."
I was a little taken aback by the familiarity with which he spoke to me, as if we had been old friends. I answered. "I am a student. Graduate studies in Philosophy, working on my thesis, long nights in the library... you know."
The Green Man laughed, a deep rumble that shook his beard. "When was the last time you ate a real meal?" He clapped his hands, and I saw bustling servants appear. "Saw" is hardly the correct word. Rather, I perceived subtle shades of light dancing around the room, but if I turned my gaze to look directly at them, I lost sight of them completely. Silent and graceful, they bore platters of meats: roasted rabbit, duck, venison, and boar. Juicy brown haunches of ox, legs of fowl, seasoned fish. Baskets of raisins, almonds, walnuts, and hazelnuts. Platters piled high with round white cakes of bread, and trays weighed down with fruits: golden apples, plump grapes, brilliant melons. Jars and bowls of shimmering golden mead. These vessels of rich and heady aromas were laid out on a massive oak table, and the Green Man bade me eat. I did so with vigor; I had not perceived that I was so ravenous. No plates, no forks, I ate with my hands. I tore off strips of meat from the platters, licking the grease off my fingers. I sampled every item, all perfect in tenderness and flavor. Never did I taste a mead so rich and so smooth. I ate till I could take no more, and finally pushed the platters away. The whole time the Green Man sat smoking his pipe observing me and directing his servants to wait on me.
When all was finished and cleared away, the Green Man slammed a fist on the bench and announced "Well then, do not be so long in seeking our company again. Once we entertained you often in our woods, but in recent years your visits have all but ceased. Do not be over studious, nor let your increased knowledge cause you to doubt. Now then, a little song." And producing a woodwind pipe, the Green Man started to whistle a tune. The notes of the music swelled and filled the room, taking on a form and sustenance of its own. With the music carrying on, the Green Man lifted his ancient voice in song. He sang of times past, of the origins of the woods, and the naming of the rocks, of the betrayal of friends, and of years of labor in the care of the woods and in the forge, creating cunning instruments. He sang of the migrations of men, and the turning of ages, of mystery and forgotten magic. On and on continued the slow and resonant song, and with it I drifted into the depths of sleep.
The next morning I awoke. The dying embers glowed a weak red in the fireplace, the table was gone, and with it the Green Man and his dog. The former evening was a reawakening, and I knew that I had dined with Gofannon, the ancient deity, God of the Forge and benevolent host to wayfarers of the Otherworld.
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 E l s e w h e r e
Scientists find bugs that eat waste and excrete petrol (link added 06.16.08)
Crude oil is being created from genetically modified bug excretions.
Read it
Pringles can designer buried in his work (link added 06.03.08)
Designer of the Pringles can was cremated and his remains kept in a Pringles can.
Read it
P o e t r y
Contented Wi' Little, And Cantie Wi' Mair - Robert Burns
Contented wi' little and cantie wi' mair,
Whene'er I forgather wi' Sorrow and Care,
I gie them a skelp, as they're creepin alang,
Wi' a cog o' guid swats and an auld Scottish sang.
I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome Thought;
But Man is a soger, and Life is a faught.
My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch,
And my Freedom's my lairdship nae monarch daur touch.
A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa',
A night o' guid fellowship sowthers it a':
When at the blythe end o' our journey at last,
Wha the Deil ever thinks o' the road he has past?
Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way,
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae!
Come Ease or come Travail, come Pleasure or Pain,
My warst word is:- ' Welcome, and welcome again!'
S t o r y
R e a d i n g / R e a d
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