Eliza Daley ~ Wordcraft & Musing on Home & Hope
An informal letter of resignation which nobody will ever read. And a general polemical complaint which nobody will ever care about. I’m not a miracle worker. And they want a miracle. No. It’s worse than that. They need, we need, a miracle. We need a spontaneous and very specific genetic mutation. Now. Yesterday. Twenty years… Continue reading Corn Futures
It is nearly Lughnasadh. This is my favorite time of year. Some may love midwinter twinkle; others may love the summer sun. But I live for the autumn blaze. The cooling weather, the increasing darkness, the slowing pace and renewed time for reading and introspection. The color and pageantry of fall. The scents of leaf… Continue reading Lughnasadh
Now the rudbeckia are opening. The topmost leaves on the maple trees have a faint wash of orange overlaid on green. And the roadside stands of goldenrod are beginning to turn into fields of sunshine. It is just shy of the season of Lughnasadh. We’ve nearly made it through July, and now the blessedly cool… Continue reading Roasting!
I love reading stories. I love hearing tales. I love seeing the world through the other eyes of a book’s characters and ultimately the author. I love the invented worlds that can only be found in fiction. I love books! However, it is rare that I encounter a life-changing idea in fiction. But when that… Continue reading Let There Be Dragons
Except for the flooding... With the month nearly two-thirds done, we’ve had about 1.87” of rain for July in my town. An average July sees nearly 5”, so we’re pretty squarely in drought conditions. Particularly when we take into account the fact that, of that July total, 1.27” fell on Monday. Meaning almost all of… Continue reading Land of Little Rain
The morning glories are blooming. And the agastaches. And the monkshood! While the rest of the country is burning, deliquescing into lakes of molten misery, we in northern New England seem to be gifted with an early autumn. The mornings are cool, sometimes cold. Fog drapes the green mountains, drifting down to the river bed… Continue reading Autumn in July
How many of us like what we do for wages? Leaving aside arenas of obvious brute coercion and slavery — which I think we can all agree ought to have ended long ago and should not have been acceptable to a thinking species to begin with — how much wage work do we do willingly?… Continue reading Unnecessary Work
It’s burning again. Look out across this river valley at the old volcano warts and there doesn’t seem to be enough to keep a churro fed, never mind an inferno. What’s it eating when there’s nothing but grit and gravel and black rock? I don’t go over that way enough to puzzle out that riddle.… Continue reading Desert Pyre: Winifred Mumbles
It’s getting busy in the garden. There are tasks each day. Weeds to pull, fruit to harvest, and the occasional flowers to cut for the vase. This last I’m not doing very much, though, mostly because I’m not home enough to enjoy them. But also because I don’t have as many cutting flowers as I… Continue reading Of Weeds and Berries
Our overlords seem to be growing frantic these days. In spite of controlling everything from the US Supreme Court to the IPC, their iron-fisted hold seems to be ebbing. BoJo was forced into abdication for knowingly hiring an actual groper — and posting bad jokes on social media about the guy. (As BoJo himself seems… Continue reading Overlorded…
By My Solitary Hearth 