a little romp — with pictures!

A new post! Yes, it has been ages, so let's go ahead and get my customary apologies out of the way. I'm sorry I was absent so long. Three minutes of that time can be written away as "why can't I remember my password?" time, but for the rest I have no excuse. I offer myself up for whatever punishments might be desired. Please, nothing too humiliating.

Now lets move on to the content. I went to my local park today (pictured above), which proved fun and nostalgic both. It was a much needed breath of fresh air—which might sound like a cliche, but I haven't left the house except to go to work in several weeks so sometimes cliches are true. My mind has been preoccupied with stupid things, like my new ipod, which have caused writing block—actual blockage this time, not log jam stuff. I needed a fix.

And what is a better fix than broken trees? How about a random rusted-out shovel?

From the first moment I came across these aged metal remains, I knew there was a story to be had. And I was a bit creeped out. (Come on, aren't you creeped out by shovels in the middle of woods? Haven't you seen any movies?)

But there were no skulls underneath the leaves, no skeletal hands reaching out of the dirt, grasping for one last breath of life. Everything held the air of normality—except the shovel, of course, but it can't speak for itself, so let us move on.

There was also a tree... Well, there were many trees, obviously, but this tree was special. It had boards nailed into it for some unknown reason, and it was the only one like it. (Okay, so I'm exaggerating. Obviously I didn't check every tree. What do you take me for? I don't have that much time on my hands. Not quite, anyway)

Here's a pic:

And a view from the topish:

You can see the CC! Nothing spectacular, I know, but can you imagine how much fun this was for my imagination? I'm calling it the Watcher Tree. Also, the descent was a bit tricky. If there hadn't been a fifteen ft (est.) drop to mushy uneven ground, I would've jumped. But as it was...

Oh, and there was also a hollow! (Is hollow the right word? I can't remember. If someone could tell me, I'd be obliged.) Every time I see something like this, I want to crawl inside. But there was a goblin down there, and I decided it would be best to leave him in peace.

And this was pretty much my entire day. You might not be able to tell it from the pictures, but it was very exciting. I ran about in the woods, listened to my own echoing laughter, and pretended I was fay. I also crept along a creek bed, pretending I was eluding some warlord and his men. I don't remember his name, but he was your standard prince-john-tyrant type, so perhaps he doesn't deserve to be remembered.

 What about you, how was your day? I'd love to hear about it. No, really, I would. Stories make me happy.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,

M. S.

Call to Wander

Sometimes, one gets the call to wander. It might be the sunshine slanting through the windows, or it could be the rain dancing on the roof; it may be a simple song, a memory, a feeling. You get the urge to shod your feet—or not, as the case may be—and hit the streets, the sidewalks, the dirt trails, the pathless ways. You want to put soft grass under your feet, to feel rocks and sand and bark tearing at your hands, to taste crisp clean water and misty air. To find a secluded place and just observe…

Well, I do, anyway. I want to run and scream, to dance and swing, to climb and fall. The door to my imagination opens. I want to enter.

I want to see something new everyday, if only a new angle of the old. I want to wander, if only in my mind. I want to dine with adventure worn heroes in smoky taverns, swap stories with bards, share bread with beggars, train with knights, serve.

I want to write.

Maybe I'm just crazy, but I don't have time to dwell on that. Adventure calls, and I must  heed it.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.