“Plant your own garden
and decorate your soul
instead of waiting for someone
to bring you flowers.”
~Veronica A. Shoffstall

This post has no literary merit. I am merely whining about the weather. Again. It’s too hot to write in my house. It’s too hot to sleep in my house. It is, in short, too hot in my house.

I love my backyard. It has many tall trees and lots of lovely shade. Alas, thanks to the wildfires in the Gorge, at the moment there is ash all over the place as well. I’m ready for autumn.

There is no insurmountable solitude. All paths lead to the same goal: to convey to others what we are. And we must pass through solitude and difficulty, isolation and silence in order to reach forth to the enchanted place where we can dance our clumsy dance and sing our sorrowful song – but in this dance or in this song there are fulfilled the most ancient rites of our conscience in the awareness of being human and of believing in a common destiny.
–Pablo Neruda

“If the whole universe has no meaning, we should never have found out that it has no meaning: just as, if there were no light in the universe and therefore no creatures with eyes, we should never know it was dark. Dark would be a word without meaning.”
― C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

There is no terror in the bang… only in the anticipation of it.”
-Alfred Hitchcock

Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven, a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. Where? When? O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again. –Thomas Wolfe, Look Homeward, Angel