A Mid-July Good Morning Wish

 

 

            I wish you joy unstoppable. Joy that makes no reasonable sense. I wish that your cup is full, full enough to share. May the abundance take your breath away!

            I wish that joy will ambush you, coming straight out of the blue, and bowling you over! May it sneak up on you like a Sasquatch in the forest. Surprise! May you be tumbled and rumpled by joy.

            May it manifest in your life. May you feel it and taste it. May it smell sweet and seduce you with its color!

            May joy wake you every morning! May joy warm your heart as you sleep.

            Before you think a thought, say a word, or turn a hand, may joy inform it all!

💌

Uncle Bob's New Song

 

            Ralph was taking a break, lying on his big cedar log, arms behind his head. It was summer and he was listening to the voices of the forest. In the distance he could hear the river pushing its way downstream. Louder was the wind, sighing in the high branches of the firs. There were insects nearby with minuscule songs, speaking of heat and striving. Always, birds. Squirrels rattled around, arguing and almost laughing.
            The heat trapped among the trees made him sleepy; his mind wandered almost to the land of sleep and remembrance. Time slowed and returned upon itself. He sighed hugely.
            Just as he was drifting he heard a familiar shuffling step.
            It was Uncle Bob. He was in a bit of a hurry.
            “Ralphie!” he called. Bob’s eyesight is not great, or maybe it’s his attention which is lacking.
            “I’m here, on my log, Bob. Slow down!” said Ralph, rising to a seated position.
            “Oh, hi, Ralphie!” said Bob. “There you are!”
            “What’s up, Bob? Is everything alright?”
            “Yeah, but I wish Timbo or Maurice were still here,” lamented Uncle Bob. “Music would really help!”
            “What’s the occasion?" said Ralph.
            “I finished thinking up that song I was working on! Do you want to hear it? It’s about the girl in that old movie,” said Bob.
            “How did you know about that anyhow?” said Ralph.
            “Oh, easy. Your mom told my mom, and I heard them talking! Do you want to hear it?” said Bob.
            “Of course I want to hear it! Do you want to sing it now?” smiled Ralph.
            “Yes,” said Bob.
            He stood in front of Ralph where he sat, placed his hands on his dusty looking tummy, closed his eyes and began to sing in a sweet light tenor.
            This is the song he sang:
 
They called you Patty, but it’s not your name.
You’re famous but unknown!
Lovely and swift, just the same…
A braid in your hair, and a hitch in your step.
You’ve quick-stepped into fame!
 
You glanced back, Poppy, anxiously.
We could see your heart trembling.
Did you fear for your children alone?
Were you rushing home, Sweet Poppy?
 
You sail by the stars, and the wind in your hair.
Once, when a girl, did you put flowers there?
You are obscure. Profound.
Remote and dear.
Your wisdom is secret. But true.
Live in joy forever! Blessed are you!
 
            “You amaze me, Bob. You made two songs. Both complete surprises!” said Ralph.
            “I didn’t know I could do it either,” said Bob. “But it happened anyhow.”
            “Kinda wish I knew how to write it down, but we don’t do that do we?” said Bob.
            “You know, Bob, it might not be a good idea. Somehow, I think it might weaken our memory. Right now, you have no trouble remembering your song and you can sing it, no problem.
            “Maybe it’s something like that no photos thing. There is something static about a photo. It freezes and defines a person. I don’t know. Maybe writing is too human, too less-than, for us, Bob. What do you think about that?” said Ralph.
            “I don’t know, Ralphie. I’m plain and kinda dumb. I just think up words. First in our language. Then I say the same thing in English. But I wonder if any human will ever hear one of them, you know?” said Bob.
            “Well, they’re good songs. And I can think of a few people that I wish could hear them, like Millicent and Thaga and Ooog!” said Ralph, already thinking about how to arrange the meeting.
            “I’m going to go home now. Suzy is cooking a big fish, and they don’t take long!” said Bob. Then he wandered back up the way he had come down.
            Ralph lay back down with a smile on his big face and resumed listening to the summer day.

💚

Mikkel Mooch, Rex

 

 

         Mikkel wanted that coin crown. He wanted it real bad. But it was in the bottom of Ralph’s river. It niggled at him. This would require careful planning Mikkel thought.
            While Mikkel thought, (plotted), he watched Wolvrin Farsukkil mop the throne room. What could have been more obvious. You lose the crown, you ain’t the king! The irony was delicious to Mikkel, but he didn’t really have time to savor it. He had to figure a way to beat the song of No Return, and return actually to get what was rightfully his, as was his belief.
            He knew there must be a way. But what was it? In the meantime, he had to make his own kingship stick. The crown would seal the deal. He craved compliant obedience from the herd of Plaidies, not grudging and sullen acquiescence.
            Now, in the world of the Plaidies, wherever that is, there was a Mother of Plaidies. She wore no crown, because she didn’t need one. Her power was uncontested. It seemed like she had always been there and that she would never die. None of them knew how old she was, or who had begat her on whom.
            Mikkel Mooch, the king, decided to seek the counsel of the Mother. He knew she wasn’t all that invested in Wolvrin, and that she would likely help him break the song that kept him underground in the Plaidie throne room.
            Many believed that the throne room was located in a hollow under Glacier Peak. Anything is possible! Sure, the Plaidies are faery folk, but they are a very localized PNW variety.
            The Mother had her own separate quarters far from the throne room. She was not often visited there. She didn’t like idiots, and it was risky visiting her with some knuckleheaded question or doomed project.
            Mikkel knocked on her cunningly carved door with complete confidence. This door was about four feet tall, a rather grandiose entrance way in Plaidie terms. It was carved long ago with obscure references to folk tales which should have been a warning to the wise. But it didn’t bother Mikkel.
            The door opened slowly. It revealed a dark interior. Mother herself didn’t man the door. A severely domesticated red fox did. The fox examined Mikkel, might have grinned a bit, and then lay down on the stone paved floor by the open door, leaving it open. Perhaps that was meant to discourage the idea of a long interview with the Mother.
            She sat at a desk, in an overgrown chair built of desiccated and polished Alder branches. The effect was somewhat Appalachian. Her hands were folded on the desk. Her long white hair was in a single braid which circled her head and dropped down to wind about her body. Of course her dress was plaid. Her face could be compared to something like a walnut with sharp little blue eyes. Her mouth was thin and rather wide. In short, she was scary looking.
            Mikkel strutted his big flat feet over the stones of the floor to stand right before her desk.
            He pulled his lower lip down in greeting, stomped three times and said, “I bow, Mother!” Then he did.
            “Who are you?” she said. His blood ran a little cold.
            “I am Mikkel Mooch, king of all Plaidies, Mother,” said he.
            “I don’t see a crown. Where is the crown, Mikkel Mooch, the king of all Plaidies, indeed?” asked the Mother.
            “That question is at the very nub of my seeking counsel!” said Mikkel.
            “How is it that you style yourself king?” she frowned. The fox crept up to listen better.
            “I was Wolvrin’s Hand, his minister in all things, and the next in power. When he fell, I rose,” said Mikkel.
            “When he lost the crown to that Hairy Giant upstairs, he lost the crown down here as well, Madam!”
            “I know.” She frowned again. “So what has that got to do with me, that you must come galumphing in here?”
            “Mother, the crown lies at the bottom of a river. A simple matter to winkle it out except for one thing. Yon Hairy Giant sang a strong spell on me. It was No Return, and it’s a good one. It works!” said Mikkel.
            “Hm,” said the Mother. “Let me think. You wait.”
He waited. She yawned and closed her eyes. Her head drooped. He sighed, but he waited. The fox looked at him with shining yellow eyes.
            At last she looked up and said, “It’s a matter of definition. The song was made specifically for Mikkel Mooch. You must have a new name. Then you may return to the Great Forest and fish for the crown of coins.”
            “Your wisdom astounds me, Mother! What name shall I carry henceforth?” exulted Mikkel.
            “I shall name you!” She looked at him appraisingly and then said, “Lenny Lenovo. So be it. It’s done. Go your way Lenny. I’m quite finished with you! Ronald, see him out!”
            While Lenny was still trying on his new name and getting it settled in, Ronald the fox got behind him and nipped him in his bare heel, just a wee bit, enough to get him moving. As soon as he stepped through the doorway, Ronald slammed the fancy door behind him...
            Behind the throne in the throne room was a kind of natural hallway made of native rock. It started out as a normal hallway, but had been rehabbed into a kind of elevator, or ahem, portal for Plaidies. Now, none of the other Plaidies had been renamed, so they couldn’t use it to get to the Great Forest, but Lenny could.
            In a twinkling, he was up there breathing forest air and seeing the sun and hearing the birds and all things pleasantly upper world. It was glorious and full of profitable possibilities.
            But then Maeve spied him zipping along the forest paths like Sonic the Hedgehog, heading for the river and the crown of coins.
            “I don’t think so,” she said to herself.
            He never had a chance of escape. She dropped down out of the sky like a clap of thunder, like the wings of righteousness, like a huge black Raven with stunningly good eyesight. She grabbed him by his pigtail and soared back into the sky. She flew here and then there; she was searching for something or someone.
            There he was!
            He was sitting on a piece of driftwood quite near the river, trying to decide if it was flotsam or jetsam, or just driftwood. Also he was after some fish for dinner. Fish are a quick fix and much appreciated by Firekeepers everywhere.
            It was hard to speak with that greasy braid in her beak, but when Maeve got to Ralph she said, “Boss! It came back! Look!”
            “Wha?” said Ralph, squinting upward in disbelief.
            Lenny was yelling, “let me go!!” at the top of his lungs, so she did.
            Ralph caught him in midair! Lenny kept yelling to let him go.
            “No. You look familiar,” said Ralph.
            “I’m the king of all the Plaidies and I’m here to get my crown out of that blasted river,” said Lenny.
            “You don’t look like Wolvrin to me,” said Ralph. “What happened to him?”
            “He fell down and lost his crown, and we came tumbling after, as if you didn’t know,” said Lenny, just starting to feel his fey a little, like maybe he could control this giant. Poor Lenny.
            Ralph could feel Lenny feeling it and he laughed softly to himself.
            He understood how his song had been broken. It was a definition thing. Including a proper name in the definition was an area of vulnerability.
            He understood that his opponent was the Mother of Plaidies, not this wriggling pretender shouting out demands in his raspy little voice.
            “Very well, Madam,” Ralph murmured. “I shall do better this time.”
 

Behold Creature

I bind thee, by all that’s above.

In any form you take,

You are bound.

Trouble me no more forever.

Return to your lair.

Be king there,

Forever.

 
            Ralph said, “Poof!” and Lenny vanished, leaving Ralph’s hand empty.
            “Wow, Boss,” said Maeve.
            “He brought it on himself, dear Birdie,” he told her. She nodded gravely.
            “Let’s get some fish and go home,” said Ralph.
So, he sang some gullible, curious trout to his hand, and popped them into a burlap bag until he had a dozen or so leaping around in the bag.
            “Oh, one more thing,” he said. Then he stepped on the crown of coins, breaking it apart so that it was just a submerged heap of golden coins.
            “Some worthy soul will find those, Maeve, and the coins will help them pay their way in the human world out there. I think that’s fitting.”
            “We don’t need them,” said Maeve as she settled onto his shoulder for the ride home.
            “That’s right. We have all we need right here and now!” said Ralph, quite joyfully.

🤍

Willie's Take on Things

 

            Suzy was sleeping. She had nothing to say. It was too warm for saying anything.
            Toots was probably of the same opinion, and she hadn’t anything to say either.
            So, the officer present afloat was Willie, unless Sammie decided to chime in. Or Buddy, or Mr. Baby, or even the elusive Charley.
            Most of the time Willie ignored KittyComm™. He did his thinking with his eyes closed, not staring at some spooky dark window at some other cat’s apparition.
            So, I figured that I would just interview him…
 
            “What’s on your mind this muggy day, Willie, my very good boy?” I asked him.
            He got up close and whispered, “Those big noises outside.”
            “Are you talking about the explosions and colored twinklies four nights ago?” I asked. I wasn’t sure.
            “No, I knew that was coming. You were talking about it for days,” said Willie. “I had to assume that it was some sort of human ritual, so most likely safe enough, though weird.”
            “Then which other big noise are you talking about?”
            “OK. They sound like they are coming from the north, next door maybe? It’s a horrible squawking sound,” he confided nervously.
            “Mostly in the morning?” I said.
            He nodded. This is unusual. Cats don’t nod much.
            “Those are chickens,” I said. “Just big dumb walkin’ birds. They holler when they lay an egg in the morning! Willie, they’re just birds.”
            “Oh. And no one has killed them?” he said. He looked concerned.
            “No. They’re pets, just like you. I knew Suzy was a huntress, but you a potential hunter? That’s pretty funny Willie,” I said.
            “There is also some weird splashing. I can hear it when you use the screen door. And some hideous mad cries!” he continued. “It sounds like something choking on marbles! 

            "I’m a pet? Since when? I suppose those horrible cries are from pets too!”
            “In fact they are. Ducks. They’re ducks. They have a kiddy pool to play in. Water fowl,” I said.
            “I’ll bet the water’s foul,” he said. Making jokes like that is in the male union contract. Even cats know about the contract. Sigh.
            “Anything else on your mind, Willie,” I foolishly asked him.
            “Let me think,” he said, and his eyes closed slowly. Soon his breathing became deep and regular. Willie snores by the way. Cat snores are very funny!
            Ah, he’s such a good boy! Did I ever mention that? Well, he is, no matter what any of them say. It’s a matter of definition!
            But so much for interviewing him.

😹

To Meet A Forest Man

 

            “They say, the tongues that wag, for good or ill… that to meet a forest man is never fortunate, never!”
            “Well, I take exception to that. I think the major pivot point of this whole question is simply courage. Let me explain,” he said.
            “I wish you would explain,” said the lady. “Have I not demonstrated courage, from my childhood, even unto this day? At first I was ignorant, but I was sure out in the woods. Next I was unbelieving and unheeding, but I was sure out there, wasn’t I?”
            She may have been dreaming, but nevertheless the conversation went on.
            “Oh yes, we saw you. In fact, I saw you. But you went straight from no knowledge, to denial. You hedged your bets, dear Lady.”
            “How?” she said.
            “You always left yourself an escape route. Plausible deniability? Maybe it’s that,” said Ralph, roguishly.
            “I’m a rational being,” said she. “I have to make my thinking make sense!”
            “Ah!” said Ralph. “You had no room for me?”
            “Help me,” she said.
            “I’m trying to, but dream work is a chancy business, Lady. Try a bit harder,” he said a little remotely.
            “Let’s go back to the question of whether it's fortunate to meet a forest man,” said Ralph. “You know, it all depends, more or less, on you!”
            “Me?” she said. “I’m the patient here, not the actor. You’re the actor, with all the choices in the matter!”
            “Deep calls to deep, Lady. Whatcha see is whatcha get,” said Ralph. “Life is like a mirror, Baby!”
            “But, that’s not fair! I object! Things should be what they are regardless,” sobbed the woman.
            “But, who’s to decide then,” said Ralph. “Objective reality may very well be a myth told to frighten the children!”
            “Look, Forest Man, don’t dance with me. All I want is a nice class A sighting of you or Uncle Bob even, or someone, how about York!” she giggled.
            “OK, this is the deal. You stop bringing someone with you. You come out to the woods. You get out of the car. I don’t appear to cars! Good grief!
            "You trot your self out into the trees, and you find something to sit on, and you sit on it. And I’ll be with you shortly,” said Ralph. “Stop hedging. Go all in or go home!”
            “What is this? Tough love?” she said.
            “You know it is, doncha, Baby?” he said, fading by degrees.
            She opened her eyes then, trying to make sense of the conversation. It was still light outside, and she realized that she must have fallen asleep.
            She rose and looked out of her bedroom window which faced the deep forest. A gentle rain was falling.

🌲🤎🌲

The Dance Continues

 

            

            So, my navigator and I took a little drive Saturday. We weren't really looking for Ralph, but we decided to make it easy for him if he wanted to come and say "hi." The occasion was actually her birthday Sunday, and like me, she doesn't need a thing in the world, so we went out to look at the world for a few hours. A nice summer drive. There was more traffic than I expected, probably because of the long weekend for some. 

            That shot was taken heading south on 530. I thought the patchy snow looked nice.

            

            This little river is the Skagit, up near Diablo and the Gorge Power House. It's very much like the river near the Home Clearing.  It's right off Highway 20 too.

            

           But the best thing was this unassuming wide spot on Highway 20. It looked just the way I knew it should. The path goes right behind those deciduous trees, and then heads out into the deep woods...

            I feel that Ralph is still kind of dancing with me. But someday, Ralph, my friend, I know we'll meet! I promise to be brave and have some questions ready!

💚 

Saturday Greetings for July 5, 2025

            

            Several of our group are Texans, so at this perilous time I want to ask that we keep the flooded areas in our hearts and prayers.

⭐

God Bless Texas!

Seriously!

A view of the Guadalupe River.

🌸