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Today was approximately evenly split between napping, working, and walking, which is not such a bad way to go about things when you can.

I have been enjoying the landscapes I've seen in others' posts, have been feeling even a little envious of their moss-banked waterfalls and rugged declivities -- which envy is mad, given where I live, but the sphagnum is always greener, etc.

Therefore, here are a few photos from today's scramble along the rocks in Beacon Hill Park. The path is a bit dodgy at the best of times, and today it was muddy and the rocks were wet, but I find if I'm willing to lower my centre of gravity more than dignity strictly allows, I can achieve some fair progress.

The rocks are something remarkable -- huge rounded whalebacks banded, veined, and streaked with surprising colour.

In the spirit of shared beauty, then: Photos from today's walk )

As I cried out through the wind to S and LB, in my gamin enthusiasm, "This is a downtown park." That's a slight exaggeration, but only a slight one.


Crossposted from Dreamwidth (http://radiantfracture.dreamwidth.org/8533.html), where there are comment count unavailable comments. Comments either place are great.
radfrac_archive_full: (Harold Ross of the New Yorker)
And some attempt at measure.

Beauty: A walk and an opera

The Opera )

A pause to take stock: Operas I Have Seen and How they Made Me Feel )

The Walk )

And frustration: I'm sick again

I thought I'd recovered... )

I wander foggily, coating everything in the Beautiful Shed with a thin film of Vicks VapoRub.



1. I say "them", but the primary singers generally come from away, so we heard entirely other voices last time.

2. Opera dates from http://www.pov.bc.ca/repertoire.html

Crossposted from Dreamwidth (http://radiantfracture.dreamwidth.org/4166.html), where there are comment count unavailable comments. Comments either place are great.
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Argh. At work in the morning I'm lonely and want to email/lj/fb, but I ought to work. By the time I get home I'm tired and antisocial. Stupid paradoxical existence.

*** *** ***

Last night, [livejournal.com profile] inlandsea and I bravely broke away from the television to take a twilight walk through the park. Even though I had a headache, Nature triumphed.

The ducks at one pond had all gone to sleep, but the ducks at what [livejournal.com profile] inlandsea pointed out much be the party pond were still swimming around and turning upside down to wave their legs in the air. Just like university.

We ended up, of course, at the Beacon Drive-In for chocolate-dipped cones. I read they were good for your heart. Then we walked down to the water, eating the ice cream and talking philosophy.

"It's not very chocolatey." she said.
"No." I said. "More sort of waxy."
"I know they put carnuba wax in some chocolate."
"Yeah this is... what this is, is it's a sort of a wax-dipped cone."
"Well, pff. I could do that at home."

*** *** ***

[livejournal.com profile] chromemagpie noted this "Gay Bomb", and yes, I'm scandalized, just like you. I'd think it was a joke except it looked real.

Here's the thing, though. I really want one. A bomb that makes people queer. It's almost a fixation. I can't stop thinking about how great it would be. Without regard for ethics or compassion, I would drop it on... everybody.

Now you see me as I am. I'm frightening, under my mild-mannered exterior. You know, mwahaha and so forth. We all have our points of fracture. There is mine. A strange radiation.

Does anyone remember the "Nude Bomb"?

*** *** ***

Alas, there will be no entry on my part in the Monday Summer Fiction Contest again this year. Nothing really came to me for the title "No-Fun City". Nothing fun to write, anyway.

Dammit. I could have worked in the Gay Bomb.

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Yesterday was fall for the cherry blossoms. The streets and gutters are full of drifts. The crabapples (at last identified) are scattering the grass with tufts of white ruffles stained pink, like scraps left over from sewing.

Yesterday the chestnuts all lit their candles at once. The tree at Southgate, which we have walked past without much remarking every day until yesterday, was suddenly immense, a shaggy monster, a topiary O around the power lines, populated all over by upstart spindles of white blossoms.

Thursday I walked through the park by accident, east to west, in the evening just cooling. On the east side, our side, shadowed by trees and houses, the camas had just started. On the west side, slopes facing the setting sun, the camas was as thick as the grass and as high, up to my knees in places, staining the whole hillside purple.

This year is the year I noticed what I'm hypothesizing are yellow dogwoods. ([livejournal.com profile] xcaro?)Trees with flat platters of flowers, sturdy-looking, with green knobs at the centre. Whatever they are, I like their murky gold colour, touched by green, as though they haven't been convinced to forget that they were once wild.

I'm so much happier to be going for rambles again, even with sunburns and sore feet afterwards. [livejournal.com profile] stitchinmyside and I walked most of the way along the water into James Bay on an aborted journey to the Superior (we settled for beer and pizza with [livejournal.com profile] inlandsea when she got home). She pointed out a field of camas streaked with buttercups, the last sun illuminating it.

I see each thing blooming, and note it, and that should probably be enough; but when I tell each one here, I see it again, and that makes me greedy to tell you everything.



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