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Your Native Land, Your Life
“Look: this is January the worst onslaught
is ahead of us Don't be lured
by these soft grey afternoons these sunsets cut
from pink and violet tissue-paper by the thought
the days are lengthening
Don't let the solstice fool you:
our lives will always be
a stew of contradictions
the worst moment of winter can come in April
when the peepers are stubbornly still
and our bodies
plod on without conviction
and our thoughts cramp down before the sheer
arsenal of everything that tries us:
this battering, blunt-edged life”
Life
Poetry
Poem
Challenges
Winter
Difficulties
Solstice
Winterwood
“It's like a fairytale suspended in time-the princess forgotten, the hero eaten whole by a noble Fir goblin. The story ended, but no one remembered to burn the haunted forest to the ground.”
Fantasy
Fairytale
Haunted Forest
The Tyrant’s Tomb
“Meg slashed through the last of Tarquin’s minions. That was a good thing, I thought distantly. I didn’t want her to die, too. Hazel stabbed Tarquin in the chest. The Roman king fell, howling in pain, ripping the sword hilt from Hazel’s grip. He collapsed against the information desk, clutching the blade with his skeletal hands.
Hazel stepped back, waiting for the zombie king to dissolve. Instead, Tarquin struggled to his feet, purple gas flickering weakly in his eye sockets.
“I have lived for millennia,” he snarled. “You could not kill me with a thousand tons of stone, Hazel Levesque. You will not kill me with a sword.”
I thought Hazel might fly at him and rip his skull off with her bare hands. Her rage was so palpable I could smell it like an approaching storm. Wait…I did smell an approaching storm, along with other forest scents: pine needles, morning dew on wildflowers, the breath of hunting dogs.
A large silver wolf licked my face. Lupa? A hallucination? No…a whole pack of the beasts had trotted into the store and were now sniffing the bookshelves and the piles of zombie dust.
Behind them, in the doorway, stood a girl who looked about twelve, her eyes silver-yellow, her auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was dressed for the hunt in a shimmering gray frock and leggings, a white bow in her hand. Her face was beautiful, serene, and as cold as the winter moon.
She nocked a silver arrow and met Hazel’s eyes, asking permission to finish her kill. Hazel nodded and stepped aside. The young girl aimed at Tarquin.
“Foul undead thing,” she said, her voice hard and bright with power. “When a good woman puts you down, you had best stay down.”
Her arrow lodged in the center of Tarquin’s forehead, splitting his frontal bone. The king stiffened. The tendrils of purple gas sputtered and dissipated. From the arrow’s point of entry, a ripple of fire the color of Christmas tinsel spread across Tarquin’s skull and down his body, disintegrating him utterly. His gold crown, the silver arrow, and Hazel’s sword all dropped to the floor.
I grinned at the newcomer. “Hey, Sis.”
Apollo
Hazel Levesque
Diana
Meg Mccaffrey
Tarquin
Lester Papadopoulos
“Eventually, winter comes; eventually, spring comes; eventually, summer comes and eventually autumn comes! If they don't show themselves, then there's a problem!”
Seasons
Winter
Mehmet Murat Ildan Quotes
Winter Quotes
Seasons Quotes
Winter Is Coming
Seasons Quotations
The Arrangement
“She browned onions and garlic, and from the pot on the windowsill, chopped a few winter-sad leaves of tarragon. The smell was green and strong, and she thought of spring.
Spring in Dijon, when she and Al would hike into the mountains with the Club Alpin, the old women forever chiding her tentative steps, her newborn French:
la petite violette, violette américaine
. She would turn back to Al, annoyed, and he would laugh. Hardly his delicate flower. When they stopped for lunch, it was Mary Frances with the soufflé of calves' brains, whatever was made liver or marrow, ordering enough strong wine that everyone was laughing. The way home, the women let her be.
If she wanted calves' brains now, she wouldn't even know where to begin to look or how to pay. She and Al seemed to be living on vegetables and books, tobacco, quiet. She blanched a bunch of spinach and chopped it. She beat eggs with the tarragon, heated the skillet once again. There was a salad of avocados and oranges. There was a cold bottle of ale and bread. Enough, for tonight.”
Reminiscing
Spring
French Food
Offal
French Cooking
Mfk Fisher
Winterdance: The Fine Madness of Running the Iditarod
“I'm sorry. I was just running them. Running the dogs." I swallowed more soup and looked at the sky. The cold air was so clear the stars seemed to be falling to the ground. Like you could walk right. . . over . . . there and pick them up just lying on the snow. "I couldn't come back.”
Dogs
Alaska
Iditarod
Sled Dogs
Mushing
Dead Toad Scrolls
“A person can cultivate a new persona from a pâté of earthy personal experiences. How do I reconcile all my faults and propagate all my innate gifts to create the type of self that I am happy to claim responsibility for authorship? How do I go about turning over the peat moss that lines the feldspar of my rocky existence? How do I plow under the seedlings of my youth and grow a protective bed of winter clover to shield my adulthood? How do I mulch the clippings from variegated personal experiences, ferment the rot, harrow new rows, and plant hardy spring wheat to take root in the enriched chocolate loam of a fertile mind? Is all this laborious plow pulling work of creating a fresh and authentic self-identify worth the backbreaking effort? How does one go about revamping their personal storyline? How do I cast myself into a robust image that does not appall other people? My continued existence entails industriously giving seed to the lush myths that I live by, amassing dwindling personal willpower, and resolving to impose upon my weathered soul the missing character traits that wait forging in the glowering inferno fed by a rising mountain of ignited personal anxiety.”
Transformation
Memoir
Change Your Life
Search For Meaning
Change Yourself
Transitions
Memoir Writing
Personal Experiences
Writing Memoir
Transitions In Life
Forged Redemption
“The alternative rolled out like a bleak winter’s morning, a gray day that stretched on forever.”
Forever
Bleak
Alternative
Winter S Morning
Buried in the Sky: The Extraordinary Story of the Sherpa Climbers on K2's Deadliest Day
“The Gilkey Memorial is a grisly necessity because corpses rarely make it down the mountain in one piece. For Everest losses, families sometimes send a recovery team. This doesn't happen on K2. The Savage Mountain devours its victims during the long winter beteween climbing seasons. It encases the torsos in ice and grates them against the rocks, only to spit out the digested remains decades later, scattering limbs among the avalanche debris.
When Art Gilkey's team gathered stones to honor their friend in 1953, they started a morbid tradition. To keep the campsites sanitary, climbers began using the memorial as a place to dispose of the fingers, pelvic bones, arms, heads, and legs found in the glacial melt. Burying these scraps under the Gilkey Memorial felt more respectful than leaving them to the ravens. For more than half a century, the memorial has been a place to caution the living and consecrate the dead. Mountaineers attempting K2 visit the site to remind themselves of what they are getting into......On hot days, the cairn stews with the scent of defrosting flesh, and the odor clings to mourners' hair and clothing.” (Buried in the Sky, p. 102).”
Mountaineering
K2
Gilkey Memorial
Sky Burial
Singing Woman: Voices of the Sacred Feminine
“The silvered glamour of the Woman of the Winter Moon may be woman in her greatest power, woman in her guise as Elemental, as Force of Nature. This is woman to be revered. She is a concentration of feminine wisdom gathered and concentrated over the years, blended with the astral knowledge of the soul-star, and blessed by the traditions of the Sacred Feminine that she has made herself, or resurrected from Time, and passed living and intact to her daughters.”
Women
Spiritual
Goddess
Aging Gracefully
Sacred Feminine
Metaphysical
Menopause
Divine Feminine
Crone Wisdom
Wisewoman
Cat's Eye
“The north smells different from the city: clearer, thinner. You can see farther. A sawmill, a hill of sawdust, the teepee shape of a sawdust burner; the smokestacks of the copper smelters, the rocks around them bare of trees, burnt-looking, the heaps of blackened slag: I’ve forgotten about these things all winter, but here they are again, and when I see them I remember them, I know them, I greet them as if they are home.”
Canada
North
Ontario
Supper Club
“Hunter's stew is also known as hunter's pot or perpetual stew.
It is made in a large pot, and the ingredients are anything you can find. The idea is that it is never finished, never emptied all the way- instead it is topped up perpetually. It is a stew with an unending cycle. It is a stew that can last for years.
It dates back to medieval Poland, first made in cauldrons no one bothered to empty or wash. It began with the simmering of game meat- pigeon, hare, hen, pheasant, rabbit- just anything you could get your hands on. It would then be supplemented with foraged vegetables, seasoned with wild herbs. Sometimes spices or even wine would be added. Then, as time went by, additional food scraps and leftovers were thrown in- recently harvested produce, stale hunks of bread, newly slaughtered meat, or beans dried for the winter months. It would exist in perpetuity, always the same, always new.
Traditionally the stew has spicy, savory, and sour notes. An element of sourness is absolutely necessary to cut through the rich and intense flavor. It is said to improve with age.”
Reality Of Life
Sisterhood
Hunters
Club
Hard Life
Stew
Scraps
Combinations
Ice Like Fire
“You've fought for Winter so spectacularly. I am more proud than I have ever been to call you my son, and I will do all I can to help you as you help our Kingdom. But don't forget to fight for yourself as well- there is no shame in that.”
Winter
Alysson
Mather
Reflection
“Four scrolls hung on the east-facing wall, their edges slightly wrinkled with age. Her great-grandfather had spent years painting the scrolls. Each one portrayed a different season- spring, summer, autumn, and winter- in their family garden.
Mulan stopped in front of the scroll of spring, studying her ancestor's confident brushstrokes and the delicate cherry blossoms forever captured in midbloom. Her fingers crept up, skimming the painting from the top of the trees to the bright yellow carp swimming in the pond.”
Seasons
Paintings
Scrolls
“The forest reveals what was in the seed.
The hen reveals what was in the egg.
The storm reveals what was in the clouds.
The light reveals what was in the star.
The perfume reveals what was in the flower.
The honey reveals what was in the bee.
The fruit reveals what was in the tree.
The rose reveals what was in the thorn.
The web reveals what was in the spider.
The butterfly reveals what was in the caterpillar.
The venom reveals what was in the serpent.
The pearl reveals what was in the oyster.
The diamond reveals what was in the rock.
The flame reveals what was in the spark.
The nest reveals what was in the bird.
The roar reveals what was in the lion.
The leaf reveals what was in the plant.
The fire reveals what was in the wood.
The droplet reveals what was in the ocean.
The rainbow reveals what was in the storm.
The ocean reveals what was in the shark.
The desert reveals what was in the camel.
The sky reveals what was in the eagle.
The jungle reveals what was in the elephant.
The team reveals what was in the coach.
The flock reveals what was in the shepherd.
The crew reveals what was in the captain.
The army reveals what was in the general.
The tower reveals what was in the architect.
The sculpture reveals what was in the sculptor.
The painting reveals what was in the painter.
The symphony reveals what was in the composer.
The sensation reveals what was in the body.
The tongue reveals what was in the mind.
The action reveals what was in the heart.
The character reveals what was in the soul.
Spring reveals what was in winter.
Summer reveals what was in spring.
Autumn reveals what was in summer.
Summer reveals what was in spring.
The past reveals what was in the beginning.
The present reveals what was in the past.
The future reveals what was in the present.
The afterlife reveals what was in the future.”
Enlightenment Quotes
Wise Quotes
Africa Quotes
African Philosophy Quotes
Guru Quotes
Sage Quotes
Matshona Dhliwayo Quotes
Philosophy Quotations
African Philosopher Quotes
Solomonology Quotes
Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love
“Special combo, you got it," I say into the phone. "Which one?"
"The winter melon soup."
Winter melon is symbolic of a wife- a special order of the soup means someone's is about to be abducted. A special order of egg fried rice? Someone's kid. Fried pot stickers? A husband. Shanghai chow mein with chopped-up noodles? Someone's doomed to have their life cut short, the promise of longevity broken.”
Symbolic
Chinese Food
Gangster Terms
With the Fire on High
“Everyone jumps to their stations and I meet Richard and Amanda at ours. We're in charge of assembling spoonfuls of sweet-potato casserole but with a Spanish twist. That was my idea, a Southern holiday meal meets a twist of southern Spain. Most of the hors d'oeuvres were prepared beforehand so we just need to get them in the oven and put on the finishing garnishes. I begin scooping sweet-potato casserole onto ceramic serving spoons while Richard garnishes them with sugared walnuts and Spanish sausage. Three months ago, most of us had never even tried Spanish cuisine, and today we're hosting a semi-Spanish-themed banquet.
We work like machines. I spoon and pass the bite to my left. Richard adds walnuts and sausage, and passes the plate. Amanda adds parsley and cleans the plate. Chili aioli would make this bomb. A sweet and savory bite. I almost walk to the spice cabinet, then stop myself.
That's not the recipe.
We make trays and trays of food; some are set forward for the students who will begin serving. These are the skewers of winter veggies and single-serve portions of herbed stuffing with jamón ibérico- the less hearty bites. While the first course is being distributed the rest of us begin wiping down our stations. Our mini bites of sweet potato and mac and cheese will be going out next.”
Spanish
Spices
Cuisine
Food Preparation
Sweet Potato
Mac And Cheese
Southern Cooking
Casserole
Early Riser
“You’re not any of those. But I can’t figure out if you’re a clever person pretending to be thick, a thick person pretending to be clever, or just a chancer stumbling through the Winter without any sort of plan or thought at all.”
Clever
Lucky
Chancer
Early Riser
“So when did you first consider a Winter career?’ asked Williams, who seemed chatty.
‘Oh, eight seconds ago,’ I replied.”
Career Planning
The Strawberry Thief
“Now for the base note of the bean: a wild and bitter blackberry, like fruit picked after the turn of the year. It smells of woodland, and falling leaves, and the dark scent of winter spices.”
Notes
Scents
Blackberry
The Strawberry Thief
“After that, the strawberry wood became my favorite place to go. In the summer I picked the fruit, and ran up and down the alleys of trees, and in autumn, collected acorns, and lay on my back watching the sky through the open branches. In the spring, I picked violets, and wild garlic by the riverbank. In winter I built tunnels under the barrows of brambles, and all year round I watched the well, and listened to its breathing, and sometimes dropped a coin or a stone into the water, and whispered into the darkness.”
Seasons
Rosette Rocher
The Wood
The Strawberry Thief
“There she goes. How strange she is: my winter child; my changeling. Wild as an armful of birds, she flies everywhere in an instant. There is no keeping her inside, no making her sit quietly. She has never been like other girls, never like other children. Rosette is a force of nature, like the jackdaws that sit on the steeple and laugh, like a fall of unseasonal snow, like the blossom on the wind.”
Wild Child
Autistic
Rosette Rocher
“The revolutionary notion, as Kuby explains, holds that “vice as a form of social control is virtually invincible.” In other words, when the individual gives up sexual self-restraint, he engenders a rising totalitarian power. To understand how this power works, Kuby lists those who stand to benefit from the family’s decline: (1) anyone wishing to make humanity into rootless fodder for the sake of global ambition, (2) anyone who wants the West to sink into a “demographic winter,” and (3) anyone who wants to eliminate Christianity.”
Family
Christianity
Demographic
“I like flowers because they are presentable,
birds because they are musical,
trees because they are natural,
plants because they are beneficial,
dogs because they are loyal,
foxes because they are guileful,
wolves because they are forceful,
lions because they are royal,
sharks because they are remarkable,
crocodiles because they are formidable,
bees because they are exceptional,
spiders because they are artful,
ants because they are responsible,
chameleons because they are colorful,
hawks because they are special,
falcons because they are noble,
owls because they are watchful,
eagles because they are regal,
streams because they are peaceful,
rivers because they are predictable,
lakes because they are crucial,
oceans because they are beautiful,
skies because they are delightful,
stars because they are celestial,
planets because they are spiritual,
galaxies because they are incredible,
winters because they are essential,
summers because they are enjoyable,
autumns because they are graceful,
and springs because they are wonderful.”
Enlightenment Quotes
Africa Quotes
African Philosophy Quotes
Philosopher Quotes
Guru Quotes
Sage Quotes
Matshona Dhliwayo Quotes
Philosophy Quotations
African Philosopher Quotes
Solomonology Quotes
The Peregrine: The Hill of Summer Diaries: The Complete Works of J. A. Baker
“There is always a sense of loss, a feeling forgotten. There is nothing else here; no castles, no ancient monuments, no hills like green clouds. It is just a curve of earth, a rawness of winter fields. Dim, flat, desolate lands that cauterise all sorrow.”
Nature
Science
Wander
Peregrine
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