Crocus Season

2010-03-25 11.13.39

It is not crocus season yet.  I just saw the first buttercups, the very earliest of the spring ephemerals, this morning.  But it is closer to crocus season than it was last week, and for that I am profoundly grateful.  It has been a long, hard winter.

It has been quiet for too long here as well, but I am trying to get back into the habit of posting again.  Maybe nothing much ever at one go, but—it has been too long since I was in front of you, performing, and I miss that, so here I am in whatever small way I can manage.

Also!  I will be posting a story next Friday the 8th—the first of my Patreon stories, promised last July and then sidetracked.  (One of the excitements of my other line of work is that we can get called any day to drop everything we are doing because something important is on fire, and we have been very busy over the last year.)  But the story is now prepped and copyedited and scheduled, meaning it will be posted, so do please watch this space.


In the first shining moment he saw the whole strange-familiar world, glistening white; the roofs of the outbuildings mounded into square towers of snow, and beyond them all the fields and hedges buried, merged into one great flat expanse, unbroken white to the horizon’s brim. Will drew in a long, happy breath, silently rejoicing. Then, very faintly, he heard the music again, the same phrase. He swung round vainly searching for it in the air, as if he might see it somewhere like a flickering light.

The Dark is Rising, by Susan Cooper, Chapter 1: “Midwinter Day”

Midwinter’s Eve has always meant more to me than Midwinter’s Day. Especially at this time of year, I focus on the shadow rather than the light. But, especially at this time of year, it is important to remind myself that the light does return.

May tomorrow dawn clear and bright.

Quote for the Night

Behind all the political rhetoric being hurled at us from abroad, we are bringing home one unassailable fact — [terrorism is] a crime by any civilized standard, committed against innocent people, away from the scene of political conflict, and must be dealt with as a crime….

[I]n our recognition of the nature of terrorism as a crime lies our best hope of dealing with it….

[L]et us use the tools that we have. Let us invoke the cooperation we have the right to expect around the world, and with that cooperation let us shrink the dark and dank areas of sanctuary until these cowardly marauders are held to answer as criminals in an open and public trial for the crimes they have committed, and receive the punishment they so richly deserve.

– William H. Webster, Director, Federal Bureau of Investigation, 15 Oct 1985

Quoted in Patriot Games, by Tom Clancy.

It’s raining in Boston, as though to wash the past five days through the city’s pores and out, down the Charles, to the sea.

Boston is drinking, as though to wash the past five days through our collective pores and out, down the Charles, to the sea.

Here’s to MIT Campus Police officer Sean Collier, 26, who died protecting us. Here’s to the unnamed MBTA Transit Police officer who was wounded in the line of duty. Here’s to the hundreds of Boston police, firefighters, and EMTs who put their lives on the line for us this week. Here’s to everyone in Watertown who spent the last twenty-four hours living in fear of their lives. Here’s to the Dunkin’ Donuts employees who came into work to keep the city awake and alert despite the danger.

When the ticker at the bottom of the news screen in the burger bar changed from “2nd Marathon suspect in Watertown and alive” to “2nd Marathon suspect in Watertown, alive, and in custody,” my friends and I raised our glasses.

“To the rule of law,” I said.

“To the rule of law,” they replied, and we clinked our glasses, and got on with the business of living.

For Today


This song feels appropriate to me today.  This is the first such day in… maybe ever… that I’ve been in a position to celebrate whole-heartedly and in the culturally-approved fashion.  (With, ah, certain allowances for changing social mores.)

Warm thoughts to everyone who is not in that position — happily, unhappily, or a little of both.  Be welcome.  May you find fellowship today.

(In point of fact I’m recovering from illness and don’t feel like fighting for a table, so my boyfriend and I will go celebrate this weekend some time.  It is a nice change, though, to feel like I have something to celebrate.)



New Year

I drop the dying year behind me like a shawl
and let it fall. The urgent fireworks fling themselves
against the night, flowers of desire, love’s fervency.
Out of the space around me, standing here, I shape
your absent body against mine. You touch me as the giving air.

Most far, most near, your arms are darkness, holding me,
so I lean back, lip-read the heavens talking on in light,
syllabic stars. I see, at last, they pray at us. Your breath
is midnight’s, living, on my skin, across the miles between us,
fields and motorways and towns, the million lit-up little homes.

This love we have, grief in reverse, full rhyme, wrong place,
wrong time, sweet work for hands, the heart’s vocation, flares
to guide the new year in, the days and nights far out upon the sky’s
dark sea. Your mouth is snow on my lips, cool, intimate, first kiss,
a vow. Time falls and falls through endless space, to when we are.

Carol Ann Duffy, in Rapture

Quoted by Growing Orbits, h/t @tsbazelli.

Maybe next New Year’s my boyfriend will be in the same state as me.  ::wistful sigh::

Fake Christmas Tree

From Ursula Vernon:


Bob the hamster was pleased with his new Christmas tree. It didn’t drop needles, it wasn’t a fire hazard, and it didn’t look fake like all those cheap plastic ones.

It did wander off occasionally, but it always came back when he filled the food dish.

I am feeling in a surprisingly Christmassy mood, so I thought I’d do this. Merry Dies Natalis Solis Invicti, and if you’d like to duplicate the image on your blog, feel free!

This made me smile, and I hope it brightens your day too.