The Thunderstorms Bring Spring

The earth trembles and the sky shatters. The thunder falls with a crack so packed with power it is felt in walls and floors and ground. The lightening splits and careens with the electricity of life and the speed to illuminate the world.

The rolling tremors wake the trees. Starting in their very roots, shaking the heavy sleepers. Groggy and chilled and wanting to stay tucked in their moss blankets until summer, they finally stir and put out buds.

Of course, when I say 'I', I mean 'you'

When was the last time I sat and observed clouds grow, and shrink, expand, and move across the endless sky?
When was the last time I took a breath so deep I could smell the wind?
Have I ever tried to taste each flavor in my lunch? Each one.
Why don't I pause to... to notice anything? When did I become so caught up in just glazing through each day?

When was the last time I worked hard for the sake of working? Not because something needed to be done. But because hard, diligent work is rewarding. Because work is good.
When was the last time I looked at a tree or a carpet or an animal and tried to count the colors?
Have I ever listened to the patterned tick of a clock and marveled at Time and wondered who invented the concept of it and noticed how much happens in five minutes, and how little happens?
Why don't I search the crisp night sky for new constellations that no one thought of before?

Beowulf

Why have school assignments (high school and college) only required me to read through the first 800 some lines? The story does not end when the fight between Beowulf and Grendel ends.

When you read it like that, you get the impression that the story is more about Grendel than Beowulf. But the last couple thousand lines are just as majestic as the first thousand.

With a rhythm, and cadence to the lines.
With an apparent call to stand up and stand strong, even in the face of a monster that cannot be harmed by weapons, or an impenetrable dragon guarding its treasure.
With an interesting look at manhood.
With imagery, imagination, and impossibilities.
Wonderful impossibilities.

I can't believe the whole work of literature isn't required.
But let this be a lesson:
Just because it isn't assigned,
doesn't mean you shouldn't finish it. 

Magic by the Lake by Edward Eager

I didn't know I loved Edward Eager's writing style until recently.

A few years ago, together with sisters and cousins, we attempted a radio drama of 'The Time Garden', but even then I did not know I love the type of writing. I read 'Half Magic' later, and it grew on me. Then this year I read Snyder's 'Any Which Wall', and loved it. And she has the same style as Eager.

And I just read 'Magic by the Lake' today. And it was perfectly lovely. I already have plans for it. The past several years we have stayed at a 'lake house' for a week towards the end of summer, and my aunt and uncle and their three young girls rent a nearby 'lake house' as well. Even in the dead of winter I anticipate sitting out on the dock at night, as the sun sets, or even by moonlight, starlight, and flashlight, reading to my three sisters and my three cousins.

The four siblings in Eager's book wish for magic by the lake. Meaning, in measurements of lake. Not in halves as they had in 'Half Magic', or days like sensible people would have, but by the lake. And at once they see this will be problematic. One lake can hold an awful lot of magic at once. They set up rules, and this helps tame the magic. Over the weeks of their lakeside vacation, they go on many adventures. One rule that the Turtle gives them, though, is that they have to be water adventures. They have a good time and throughly enjoy themselves, even on the non-magic days. But then, they find out that their father's, Mr. Smith's, book store isn't getting a lot of business, and that Mr. Smith himself is troubled over the matter. Can the children use their magic to help? Even if it means no more magic?

As I've said, I love the writing style. The random tidbits of information that make the reader smile, but really do nothing for the actual plot of the story. Actually, it reminds me of one the books I am writing.

One thing I didn't like, and mind you it is a very small thing, is that the children had no sure way to get back from their adventures. They always had to call for the turtle, who either came or sent some other magical being to come rescue them. Or, they had to wait for sunset. It seemed to me that there should have been an easier, more interesting way to end each adventure. I suppose its not that big of a deal, but I would have liked it if the children could end the adventures when they wanted to, and not have to be constantly rescued.

What do you think of the writing style? And the actual book? And other Eager/Eager-like books?

The Library

The Library

Barbara A. Huff

It looks like any building

When you pass it on the street,

Made of stone and glass and marble,

Made of iron and concrete.

But once inside you can ride

A camel or a train,

Visit Rom, Siam, or Nome

Feel a hurricane,

Meet a king, learn to sing,

How to bake a pie,

Go to sea, plant a tree,

Find how airplanes fly,

Train a horse, and of course,

Have all the dogs you'd like,

See the moon, a sandy dune,

Or catch a whopping pike.

Everything that books can bring

You'll find inside those walls.

A world is there for you to share

When adventure calls.

You cannot tell its magic

By the way the building looks,

But there's wonderment within it,

The wonderment of books.