| Greetings, Salutations, and Hello! An explanation for the title of this post: I am me, and if I can make a play on words, I probably will. Interpretation 1) "A stirring of leaves" suggests the movement of something in a wood, and as I have dubbed this weblog "Rambling in the Old Forest" since it is written (at least on occasion) by Goldberry and I could think of nothing else to call it, to describe my reappearance thus rather than in such terms as "the creature awakens" or "something sluggish this way comes" seems reasonably appropriate. 2) I have been reading for a very pleasant two hours and a half as well as sorting through papers in an attempt to rediscover what it is I need to be doing to finish certain coursework, so the rustling of leaves of this sort has accompanied most of my thoughts on the subject of writing. 3) I still do, and probably forever shall, drink liberal and copious amounts of tea, which means quite another stirring of literal leaves has been taking place. 4) I have been reading Manalive by the exquisite and un-pin-down-able G. K. Chesterton, who opens his book with a chapter on "How the Great Wind Came to Beacon House", which is wonderfully descriptive of the response of people and hats and trees to a wind tearing through a garden in a London suburb, as well as a forerunner and an indication of the change that comes over the inhabitants thereof. (It is quite a good book; you must all read it.) I have also been reading The Hobbit and found a particular passage remarkably descriptive of my current position so very near the end of my college experience and yet faced with rather a large obstacle that at the moment does not seem altogether dissimilar in its ability to stop one completely in one’s tracks as does the necessary slaying of a dragon and the dubious apprehensions as to one’s ability to carry it out: “With such gloomy thoughts [. . .] they made their weary way back to the camp. Only in June they had been guests in the fair house of Elrond, and though autumn was now crawling towards winter that pleasant time now seemed years ago. They were alone in the perilous waste without hope of further help. They were at the end of their journey, but as far as ever, it seemed, from the end of their quest.” (from the chapter entitled, “On the Doorstep”) So, that is how I feel (or rather how I have felt, for the above paragraphs were written weeks ago and I have been meaning to finish them and submit this post ever since): I am at the end of my journey, but as far as ever, it seems, from the end of my quest. I have now less than the space of a week before the thesis must be done and handed in. Arg. (there is simply no other word for it) On a cheerfuller note, in the space of time that has passed between starting this and posting it I have been reading The Flying Inn, also by Chesterton, and finished it this afternoon. It is quite wonderful – boisterous, eccentric, strange, and thought-provoking – and also comes heartily recommended. For purposes of addressing Kipling (in the looming paper of doom) I am reading Kim, and have a chapter or two left which I hope to finish this evening. (Also a wonderful book; again, do read it.) There is a thunderstorm brewing, roaring and rainy, windy and delightful. I have half a mind to go tearing about in the rain until I am thoroughly soaked, as this, more consistently than anything else I can think of, always induces me to laugh out loud. (My brother likes to remind me on such occasions that I am, without doubt, ridiculous. I smile.) I had a surprise this week – a visit with Megan, hurray!!! Well, that is all for now. I shall emerge in a week, hopefully triumphant . . . at such closings, my dear Cyndi and Phil pronounce to me solemnly and sincerely, “The blessings of the free peoples of Middle Earth be upon you.” And that is something worth hoping. This post dedicated to Jessica and Glim, who faithfully pestered me to write something and never gave up hope that I was indeed still alive somewhere, and to Helen, who wrote me a poem . . . |
), then went to the dentist and the library. 