Ephemera; Another Open Thread

 Happy Friday!

It's all been an awful lot of fun.

We may as well keep it up!

Purr-Power™

To Summon A King

 

            The day of Calling arrived. But it was still very early, before bird-up even. Zaar hadn’t opened an eye yet. But Tinka had.
            Up before the sun, she built a fire in her little stone oven.  Zaar always woke up hungry as a wolverine, so she had to get something going before she rolled him out of bed. She put some sausages in the oven in a copper pannikin, then mixed up a loaf of soda bread with currants and put that in to bake also. He would have small beer to drink. He wasn’t fond of tea, and they had no sugar anyhow.
            Breakfast cooked, Tinka went back to the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed and began to sing. She always did this when he had to get up to do something important. About two verses in Zaar opened his eyes. It was a morning type of song.
            “Is it time?” he said.
            “Almost. You have plenty of time to get ready and to eat,” replied Tinka.
            Being a burrow dweller, Zaar was not given to fancy dress or a great deal of personal scrubbing. He arose in his long woolen underwear, scratching his red beard and blinking, very solemnly.
            After going outside for a moment, he stepped back into the kitchen, where Tinka had a bowl of warm water for him to wash his face and hands. Well, as mentioned, he was a bit of a grub. He didn’t do a very good job of it. Gnomes can be quite untidy.
            Now to dress. Leather pants. Blue woolen shirt. A leather vest. Woolen socks and heavy boots. He took his long pointed hat to kitchen with. It was made of felt beaten into shape by Tinka, mossy green and half as long as he was. He was quite vain about his hat. He had a special way of arranging the point so that it hung down just right, loose in back with just the pointed end flopped over his left shoulder. His deep set blue eyes sparkled in their nest of crinkles.
            She sat with him after serving him. Tinka had tea to go with her breakfast. After eating, he had a smoke in his old bone pipe.
            They watched the sun come up together through the small kitchen window. They lived by the sun like the birds in the sky and as the chickens in their backyard also did.
            “I had better practice it once before I go,” said Zaar. Therefor he retrieved his instrument from its shelf in the best room, bringing it in to play for Tinka. Yes.  He knew the tune and could play it well with  his bow.
            “Will you come with me,” said Zaar, though he knew the answer already.
            “I will stay with the cat, Zaar,” she said. Tinka was rather frail. Just a little cooking and housekeeping used most of her strength. The cat, Lars, would sit with her for company.  The chickens were nice, but not very good company.
            He laid his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead.
            “I’ll come home when it’s done Tinka. Be well,” and he went out the door, shutting it carefully and quietly behind himself.
            Lars came to her, settling himself down in her lap for a little sleep and purring. Lars was as white as a swan and was a rather hefty fellow. When he purred, she could really feel it.

***

            The stone seekers had found a good long one. It was carried from the mountains in a wooden cart pulled by two goats.
            The dwellers in the woods and fields and hillsides were drifting in, in groups and singles. Animals and all the species of Faery were represented. The mound was beginning to be circled by quite a varied crowd. All were quiet. This was always a day of forbearance between all kinds. It was a day of holy truce.
            In fact, they waited for Zaar, the Caller. He would play the song. They would sing the words to start the year. Each year there must be a new stone.
            But at last here he came, dressed and ready, carrying his bowed instrument of many singing strings. He walked through the gathered ring of creatures, standing between them and the great stone circled mound. Some greeted him, most were silent.

          He laid his instrument on the altar stone and began to play the Calling tune. Many voices rose behind him. It was sweet and insistent. Female voices predominated, with deeper notes following. He played the song a second time.  The voices followed. Then a third time, which as we all know, is the strength of the charm.

            At last, all their preparations were answered in the same old way as every year. It was said that they were summoning a king. It was perhaps a droll way of describing the event. Did they see a king? Some felt they had, those with eyes to see beyond the mundane.  Most saw a column of light. Perhaps it was all they could bear to see.
            The column of light rose up where the new stone would be set.  It was carefully marked. There must be no mistake. The light lingered there for a few moments, then it was gone, leaving a perfectly normal spring day.
            The year could begin. The stone was set in place after rather a lot of digging by a pair of powerful young men. Everyone said it looked perfect, just as if it was meant to be  there and had always been there.
            At last the tense silence was broken and the usual buzz of a group of speaking creatures rose up. The non-speaking animals added their happy utterances. There were greetings, wishes and congratulations. Babies were compared. Stories and lies told as usual. A lot of bragging commenced. Festive foods were brought forth. Creatures sat with those unlike themselves for a spring picnic.
            Seeing that all participants were happily occupied, Zaar gathered up his psaltery and bow and went to see how Tinka was faring.
            As it happens, she was still napping. Lars had done his job well. Zaar slipped in to the best room, setting his instrument in its place. Then he walked back to the kitchen where she slept. He sat down at the table and waited.
            In a few moments, feeling that he was home, she awoke.
            “It went well Tinka. The new stone is up. Spring is here,”  he told her softly.

In Acknowledgment Of Our Friend, Mawskrat

 

"I'm just passing through." –Mawskrat

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Let the dead bury their dead: but go thou and preach the kingdom of God.... No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God. –Jesus

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The news came last evening that Mawskrat has broken his terrestrial bonds and is now basking painlessly in the glory of celestial freedom. May his soul continue to be blessed on the path of goodness and light, which he is known to faithfully follow. That is where we will find and meet him again. Please join us in a celebration of Life, for death's sting can't touch us if we abide in Christ.

There is so much good to be said for this man, our dear friend. PBird and I figured last evening that we've known Mawskrat on the internets for twenty or so years. We both met him during the days of commenting on the blog Little Green Footballs, when he went by the name Hayseed. There he was known as a staunch supporter of Israel and a patriotic, conservatively-minded American, and he was always entertaining and quick-witted in the comment sections of the threads. After the fun ended for everyone on LGF, we gravitated toward BabbaZee's Outraged Spleen of Zion blog, and that became our new hangout and place to compare notes, up until a few years ago. When Babba threw in the towel, that is when MEOW was born, and Mawskrat became a commenter here and at MOTUS, where he made many new friends.

PBird said she is remembering Mawskrat as being a kind and friendly guy with genuine Christian values, a success in his plumbing occupation, as well as being a faithful and loving husband and father to his beautiful wife and their two children, and a proud grandpa to his two grandsons. She often referred to him as St. Plummah whenever he would share his expertise and help her solve her home plumbing issues. I am recognizing Mawskrat in the same way, and deeply respect him for the kindness he has shown toward me and others over the years. He was an all-around decent and upstanding man to his family and community.

Mawskrat's family roots were in rural Alabama, and he was a huge fan of University of Alabama Crimson Tide football. He started out at the bottom of the family plumbing business, working for his dad and uncle as a trench digger and helper while he was still in school, and eventually worked his way up and achieved the status of master plumber. He was an avid live music fan, attended many, many concerts of all the big-name bands that came to Cincinnati, and had an extensive collection of ticket stubs from the countless events he attended. Mawskrat loved being outdoors, camping and backpacking in Kentucky, and gardening. It is said he would sometimes take a break and head to the barn and have a shot or a toke and listen to some music. He often shared pictures of his beautiful backyard flower and vegetable patches, and he was most proud and happy to have the help of his first grandson, Braxton. He also enjoyed collecting and using cast iron cookware, and had many different skillets and pots which he kept perfectly seasoned. Mawskrat absolutely enjoyed cooking and grilling outside, and a few of his specialties were drop biscuits, cornbread, smoked chicken, and grilled veggies. He always had a cooking story or cooking tips to share with us. Vacationing in Florida and relaxing on the beach with his wife was a pastime he truly enjoyed. He was also a season ticket holder and big fan of FC Cincinnati soccer. He liked all forms of music, rock, country, bluegrass, reggae, you name it. He probably said once what his favorite song was, but I can't remember. And last, but not least, he got a kick out of watching those cheesy Japanese monster films with Godzilla and Mothra.

Please keep Mawskrat and his family in your thoughts and prayers, and please feel free to share any comments you might have.

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And the world passeth away, and the lust thereof:

but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever. —1 John 2:17

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Within my heart are treasured

The loving deeds and true

Of one who's passed my vision

And gone to pathways new;

Yet all his gentle goodness

Is just as fresh to-day

As when we walked together

Along this earthly way.

His virtues are undying.

The love and light he shed

Partake of Life eternal; —

I cannot count him dead.

—Evelyn Gage Kniffin

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✯

They Both Disappeared

 

😸💚😺

            She might have been a little lost. This part of forest was new to her. She wasn’t afraid but she was a little confused. The tree trunks were thicker here and the undergrowth much thinner than where she had wandered from.

            It was a sweet, slightly warm fall day in the BSNF. The sky was blue but not with a lot of conviction.  It was a pale blue. Some yellow leaves drifted in on the wind from the direction of the meadow where there were maples and alders still dropping some leaves. There was smoke on the air, but not a lot.  Maybe someone had a campfire down by the river.
            The day was so beguiling that the little one just kept walking. The path was subtle, but she had no trouble following it through the Salal and Indian Grape bushes. After all she was of the forest people. The duff beneath her feet was like a carpet to her.
            Suddenly someone spoke!
            “Who are you?” said Twigg. He was right in the middle of the path, staring in amazement. The only other child he had ever seen was Cherry, who was, from his point of view, a fairly useless infant.
            “Linnet,” she said. “Mamma calls me Linnet.”
            “That’s funny,” said Twigg. “I’m named after part of a tree. I don’t know what a Linnet is.”
            “I think it’s just me,” said Linnet, a little embarrassed because she didn’t know.
            “That’s okay,” said Twigg. “Where did you come from? Are your parents coming too?”
            “I don’t know. They were asleep, so I took a walk. Maybe they will find me.” She looked a little weepy at that.
            “Don’t cry Linnet. Parents always find kids. I’m not sure how, but they do,” Twigg insisted.
            Twigg gave a little whistle, like he learned from his dad. Berry and Bob came silently to him and bumped him with their heads.  They were getting to be quite grown up puma boys by then and maybe a little girl might be afraid of them. But they just sat and smiled, cat style, at her, purring great big loud purrs.
            “These are my cats. They’re pets. Daddy brought them to me when they were babies and I wanted a pet cat like Thaga has, but mine are bigger and more fun than just a little striped cat in the house,” said Twigg.
            “Oh!,” said Linnet. “They’re your friends! They won’t hurt you or me?
            “No. They don’t eat people, or other pets. My mom still feeds them cooked food and other stuff that is not cooked.  They like fish a lot. So my dad has to get into the river and catch a lot of fish for all of us.  Berry and Bob can’t fish very well at all.”
            “Do you have any other kids in your family,” asked Twigg.
            “No, it’s just me and my father and my mamma.  I don’t have a pet either,” said Linnet, still a little in awe of the big kitties.
            “I’ll tell you about my sister then. She is a baby. She is shiny almost white. She doesn’t do anything much but sleep up in the air kind of behind my mother like she is tied to mommy, but there is no rope. She just stays there. Sometimes she wakes up and sits on the ground and does baby stuff,” said Twigg. “We can go see her later, if you want to.”
            “I would like to see a shiny white flying baby girl,” laughed Linnet. “Does she have a tree name too?”
            “Cherry. Her name is Cherry,” said Twigg. “So, yeah, I guess so. There are cherry trees.”
            “Do you want to see the new trick my dad showed me?” Twigg looked inspired suddenly.
            “I guess so. What is it,” said Linnet.
            “Well, grownups can do this thing.  But dad showed me, even though I'm still a kid. They can almost vanish. It’s like they are still there but no one can see them very well. It’s not the one where they go away.  They are still there, just a little kinda sparkly shape. It’s fun.  Want to see me do it?”
            “Yes, do it,” she was intrigued.
            Standing there, smiling, right beside her, Twigg sang a little song, way down under his breath. It was just a few special words sung in a certain plain tune. ‘         
            Twigg vanished, except for something that looked like some dust motes in a beam of sunlight. She could almost see his shape, but of course that was because she knew where he was. If she hadn't known that he was there she probably wouldn’t have noticed him.
            “I’m still here, Linnet,” said Twigg. “Don’t worry, and I can hear and see you just like regular. See, isn’t that neat?  A good way to hide, if you wanted to. My cats know where I am. I think they see different things than people do.” As if to prove his point, the pumas smiled very large smiles and looked at Linnet with huge shining golden eyes, looking rather proud of themselves.
            He hummed another little tune, and reappeared.
            “I think we better go see my mom. She will take care of you until your mom and dad come and find you.  They will. Don’t worry. You can see Cherry float in the air like a cloud. She doesn’t fly like a bird. She just floats here and there. It’s funny! Come on!” said Twigg to his new little friend, who was glad to  hear the invitation.
            He took her hand and led her home with him through the familiar forest paths. Berry and Bob followed behind like circus tigers, with their tales waving back and forth in time with each other, very fancily.
            When they got to the home clearing and the fire circle there were four adults there. Ralph and Ramona of course, but also a worried looking mom and dad who had just arrived looking for a forest child called Linnet.
            Just as Twigg was about to say, “look who I found out on the path!” Linnet saw her parents and went running to her mother. Her father picked her up and tossed her up in the air, grinning, and handed her to her mother. It was a grand meeting! Then there was a moment of serious discussion about not wandering off.
            When the excitement was over, Linnet got to meet Cherry and see her float, until Cherry woke and wanted Ramona. Even her parents were very impressed. No one could remember ever seeing a floating baby before.
            Linnet’s family stayed for dinner. They promised to bring Linnet over to play soon, and then they walked home under the stars when it got late. Twigg had been allowed to stay up late because it was a special night, so as he watched, Linnet turned back to wave to him and smile her best smile.

🍁🌲🍁

Well-Tempered Vessels

 

🌸🤍🌸

         It was a mostly easy Sunday drive yesterday, but some drivers did some driving maneuvers which were annoying and rather dangerous, potentially.

          I was nudged to start thinking about the word temper. I realized suddenly that the way we use the word has flipped. I hadn’t really noticed the change until yesterday on the road.

          temper (v.)
"mix or work up into proper condition, adjust or restore to proper proportions;" Middle English temperen, from late Old English temprian "to moderate by mixture, bring to a proper or suitable state, modify (some excessive quality), restrain within due limits," from Latin temperare "observe proper measure, be moderate, restrain oneself," also transitive, "mix correctly, mix in due proportion; regulate, rule, govern, manage."
This often is described as from Latin tempus "time, season" (see temporal (adj.1)), with a notion of "proper time or season." But as the root sense of tempus seems to be "stretch," the words in the "restrain, modify" sense might be from a semantic shift from "stretching" to "measuring" (compare temple (n.1)).
The meaning "make (steel) hard and elastic" is from late 14c. The sense of "tune the pitch of a musical instrument" is recorded from c. 1300

          They used to say, “don’t lose your temper.” In this sense meaning to stay rational and not become angry. It meant to use restraint. Be reasonable. Think, not react. Don’t lose your essential character.
          These days people say that someone “has a bit of a temper.” They mean that a person, in fact, loses their temper, in the old sense, easily.  They are prone to anger.
          They also mention a “temper tantrum.”
         

tempered (adj.)
"brought to desired hardness" (of metals, especially steel), 1650s, past-participle adjective from temper (v.). The meaning "toned down by admixture" also is from 1650s. In modern use in reference to music or musical instruments, "tuned to a particular temper," from 1727.

          Proverbs 16:32 says,

He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.”

            In other words, he is "well-tempered." 

         Just some thoughts from the road, reconsidering some pepperiness of character on my own part.

Your True Cat, A Reading

     Well, Movie Maker and I went round and round. They won this time. Next time I will have some video and it will go better.

    Later Sam came down after work at the Postal Office and showed me a free open source movie making app.  It's called Kdenlive.

    Never the less, here is the story of Your True Cat, as recorded on the new Yeti mic. 

    It was a chapter in They Haven't Taken My Phone Yet.

    Eliot's The Naming Of Cats reminded me of this bit.

Wisdom Wins Out In The End

 

          “I knew you were going to do that,” said Maeve! “You just had to be your benevolent hairy self!”

            “Hey, she left her iPhone in the car,” grinned Ralph. “I wasn’t worried about her.  I’ve seen her before anyhow. Apparently she was a state runner-up in the Queen of the Forest Access Roads contest!”
            “I don’t know how you know whether she had her camera thing,” argued Maeve.
            “Dear old blackling!  All those little magicks send out wavy signals.  Those signals make me itch!  I can almost smell em,” said Ralph as he was strolling back home, to check on lunch on so on.
            “So, Ralph, are you going to visit the TV crew too?  Give em something to lie about?” said Maeve. Her attitude could be a little jaundiced.
            “Maybe after dark, oh muse of mine, after dark.”  He kept moving on. Morning was long gone, and he was hungry.
            Maeve took off, like she aways does just as Ralph emerged center stage at the clearing. Even for Ramona, his entrances were rather impressive. First he wasn’t there, and then he just was!
            “Have a nice time, sweetie?” asked Ramona.
            “Yeah.  You won’t believe what I saw!  Two ladies decorating a little tree with candy and toothbrushes down at the parking lot! I was so tickled I decided to talk to one of em.”
            “I wonder why they did that,” she said, moving some stew ingredients around in a pot over the fire. She tasted the mixture, frowning a little, and threw in some salt. She kept moving. She got some bowls out of the cave, mostly thinking about lunch, not some ladies at the parking lot. As she worked Cherry floated just above and behind her, like a little blond sleeping cloud.
            Taking a seat expectantly, he said, “the belief among some curious types is that if they leave little gifts out in the woods for us, we might decide to hang out with them.  This attempt was so childish that I decided to reward it by appearing just for a minute.”
            Ramona stopped and looked at him, “was she afraid?” She swooped a lock of her long dark blond hair back out of her eyes, as she talked.
            “Yes, but she wasn’t ruled by her fear,” said Ralph. “I was actually sort of surprised that a human person was capable of that. I did sit down by her, so I didn’t loom.  Looming scares ‘em seems to me. I wonder why they are so small? Never understood that Ramona.”
            “They probably ask why we have to be so big,” laughed Ramona. “That is, if they think we exist at all.”
            “Ah, that little crack in credibility is where we live, and we like it that way,” said Ralph. “Is that done, or shall I go eat raw fish out of the river?” He hadn’t done that in a while!
            “Why don’t you get Twigg and those cats?  It’s done.” He did as he was bidden, and lunch was served. Duck stew in wooden bowls carved by the most agreeable Ooog, that expert carver of all things wooden or stone.

            He decided to ignore the TV crew after all. They actually didn’t need any help from him at all! He really wondered about the nature of their inquiry. Did they expect to find him by making that big noisy fuss in the forest? Or did they really not expect to find anything because they were sure it was just stories told by cynical Indians, old coots, or gullible hikers?
            In any case, their world and his did not intersect at all. Ralph felt like his people were being used as fictional cartoon characters, or maybe horror villains. None of this had anything to do with him. Let them stew in their own foolishness and greed, he thought.
            But then he was tempted, but decided, “nah,” I’m too old for messing with the hairless investigators, even though they richly deserved it. He sighed. Then he got a really good idea!
            “Hey, Twigg!” said Ralph happily, “I have a really good idea!”
            Twigg knew this was going to be good. “Sure, dad!”
            “Hey, I’ll teach you a new trick.  It’s a good one!” said his dad….

The Naming Of Cats Is A Weighty Matter!

 🤍

T. S. ELIOT

OLD POSSUM'S BOOK

OF PRACTICAL CATS

THE NAMING OF CATS

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there's the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey—
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter—
But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular,
A name that's peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum—
Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover—
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.

*Only the very first part in the poem!

** I must insist that this is so very very absolutely true!

Meeting At Last

 

All photos on location in the BSNF.

            Maeve had been out on the wing as usual that early morning, flying north, and then back south, circling through the tree tops, then drifting down here and there to get a better look.  Nobody inspects the forest like her.
            Her bright eye, and inquisitive mind was ever on the watch.  With just her exigent wingbeats she could cover more ground in moments than anyone else could just walking at ground level. It would be ungenerous to use the word “snoopy.”  Well, there it is. Snoopiness has its pragmatism.

            Circuit completed; she headed straight for Ralph’s locale. She found him in a meditative state stretched out on his famous cedar log. His eyes were shut, but he wasn’t asleep. He was contemplating perfection and asking himself if perfection was round. Or if maybe roundness had preeminence over perfection.  If he kept on like this he would have been asleep soon.
            She landed with a good solid thump on his chest. His eyes popped open.
            “Oh, good.  You’re awake,” said she.
            “Um. What’s the news old bird,” said he, knowing that’s just what he was about to receive.
            “Well. There’s two parties of hairless in our forest.  I think they came looking for you!”
            “You don’t think they’re just camping?” asked Ralph, sitting up.
            “One bunch down on the riverbank has an awful lot of equipment with them Ralph. It looks like a TV crew.”
            “Ouch!” said Ralph. He whistled a long low whistle, looking thoughtful.
            “The other two are just out there, by the park entrance. When I left them they were arranging candies on a little fir.  They were decorating the tree with them!” said Maeve, doing that Raven chuckle. “They are putting shiny wrapped candies all over that tree, and it’s nowhere near Christmas, when people do that.”
            “Hm. Nobody ever did that before. Wait ‘til Twigg finds out. Don’t go tell him Maeve. It could be a trap,” said Ralph laughing. “He could end up all tangled up in that tree being videoed! Then he would be on YouTube! I suppose I better go check them out…”
            “I know you’ll avoid those, um, researchers, down by the river, but are you going to appear to those women at the park?” asked Maeve in disbelief.  She hopped up onto his left shoulder, so she could talk right into his ear. “What if they have mobile phones!”
            “We’ll worry about that when we get there. I’ll be in shhhh mode.”
            “I’ll go tell Ramona!” said Maeve, getting pretty excited about the project.
            “Meet me at the park,” said Ralph. Maeve blasted off to carry the news and Ralph got onto the trail heading for the park entrance.

            ***

            The older lady looked on as the other one tied the last of about 100 wrapped butter scotch candies to the baby Douglas fir, just a bit into the woods from the lot where they had left the Honda. She was pleased at the effect.  Looked very festive.  And tempting. Surely it would attract attention.  Hopefully human hikers wouldn’t see it. It wasn’t on the trail.
            She wasn’t really expecting to make contact today.  She just wanted to leave something to please the little ones. Maybe next time they came to the park, someone would speak to them.
            A particularly large Raven watched from a lower branch just a few yards away. She paced impatiently up and down the branch muttering Raven chatter.
            “Get that bird,” said the younger one. “Wonder what’s biting her?”
            “Maybe she’s waiting for us to clear out of here. She might like candy,” said the first lady. Then she went back to the car and came back with a couple dozen new toothbrushes. They were packaged in little plastic boxes with hooks on them, so they could be hung up in the store. She began hanging them in the tree also.
            “Oh, mom!  Really!” said the younger of the two.
            “Yep!” said “mom.” “Can you imagine how hard it is to find a toothbrush out here?”
            “While you finish up I’m going to get in and get ready to go home,” said the daughter. “Whatever makes you happy! Maybe I’ll take a nap.”

            ***

            “I don’t know if you can hear me,” said the first lady, sitting on a tree trunk. “But some day I’d like to see you and say hi. The candy and toothbrushes are just presents for the kids.”
            While she sat quietly, she thought she heard, “are you sure?”
            “I think I’m sure,” she said aloud.
            “I scare some people,” said the quiet voice.
            “I know,” she said. “I’m shy, but I think I will be okay.” She closed her eyes, waiting.
            “You can open your eyes now lady,” said the voice, right out loud now.
            She took a deep breath and opened her eyes.
            He was sitting  beside her on the tree trunk. He was massive. He was covered in soft looking deep brown wavy hair. His hands were folded in his lap. In his large smiling face, his big brown eyes had smile crinkles around them. He smelled of forest loam and evergreen pitch.
            “Hi,” said Ralph. “It’s nice to meet you.  I’ve seen you around the forest for years you know.” His deep chuckle filled the air for a moment. It could have been mistaken for a burst of wind in the trees, if one wanted to hear it that way.
            “It’s true, I’ve spent a lot of time in the forest,” she said, hardly believing what was happening.
            “It was kind of you to bring presents for the kids. Two of them are mine, but one is still a baby,” he said.
            “I’m glad you approve,” she said. “I hoped it would be okay.”
            “Kindness is always appreciated, but lots of times those looking for us aren’t looking for kind reasons.  You know that,” said Ralph.
            “I do know that,” she said. “I better go now; I have a lot of driving left to do today and my daughter is waiting for me in the car.”
            “My name is Ralph. Use my name if you meet other forest people and they will understand that you are alright with me,” he said. “I hope we meet again.”
            “I do too,” she said, getting up to leave, just looking at him for a moment. She saw only love in his eyes.
            Happily, she walked back to her car. When she got seated and started up the engine, she said to her daughter, “I have a story to tell you.”

Shall We Have An Art Post?

Jōichi Hoshi 

Milky Way, Rhapsody

    I first noticed this work of printmaking years ago, but didn't look into the artist at all. I was just happy to look at it.  I had thought it was a painting. I am enraptured by it.

     LoneStar looked him up, so I had to look at other prints that he made.

    It's so different from his other works that I am surprised that it was done by the same man! It doesn't look like a woodblock print to me.

    I was also surprised to see that it was created in 1970. So long ago.

I find them all fascinating, but that Milky Way one took my imagination. It also challenged me.  It made me think about technique.

    Between this man and Klimt I became fascinated with metallic paint.

Tree Top

Blue Bird

Red Branches, Akai eda

Jōichi Hoshi was born in 1913 in Tokyo, Japan and began studying printmaking in the 1950s. Hoshi is considered a master of the traditional Japanese woodblock print technique, and his work is known for its intricate details and bold use of color, particularly his use of gold in his prints. He has had many solo exhibitions of his work in galleries and museums throughout Japan and internationally.

One of Hoshi’s subjects of interest is trees, which he has depicted in many of his prints. His trees are often depicted in a stylized way, with strong and clean lines, and are known for their elegance and simplicity. He has been able to convey the essence and spirit of the trees in his prints.

Hoshi is considered a part of the sosaku hanga movement, which emerged in Japan after WWII and was characterized by artists creating their own designs, carving their own blocks, and printing the works themselves. He was a member of the Japan Print Association.

Hoshi’s work often features landscapes and cityscapes, as well as images of traditional Japanese culture and daily life. He continues to work as an artist, and his prints are highly sought after by collectors. His use of gold in his prints gives them a special touch of elegance and refinement. He is particularly known for his depictions of trees, which he has captured with great skill and sensitivity. His work has been recognized and exhibited both in Japan and internationally, making him an important figure in the world of printmaking.

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Many of his prints are apparently still available at Egenolf Gallery, Fine Japanese Prints.  In case anyone is interested.

The prices are fair, considering the quality. All less than $2000.00 except for the Tree Top print, which goes for $4800.00.