#Six Rivers National Forest

[pickleweed2]

East Fork Willow Creek, yesterday morning. It recently was at flood stage and pulled down part of the road.

Six Rivers National Forest, California

[valhikes]

Six Rivers National Forest, California

Visiting the 4th, highest, and only still active fire lookout on South Fork Mountain. That makes all of them!

[itsrainingpumpkins]

Six Rivers National Forest, CA Martin Swett

[reasonsforhope]

"[There is] fantastic news for species conservation after new populations of the gorgeous ‘Skywalker’ gibbon, known to science for only 6 years, were recently found living in the politically chaotic nation of Myanmar.

Also called the hoolock gibbon, this dainty vocalist was first described in 2017 living in the extreme south of China on a mountain in Yunnan. Classified as Endangered by the IUCN, the population was estimated to number a paltry 150 individuals, but others were believed to live in Myanmar.

Even before the recent military junta usurped the president and plunged the country into civil war, Myanmar [was a difficult place to conduct field studies, especially extensive or ongoing ones, due to ongoing conflict.]

[Although they are] now in open revolt against the military junta, [the Myanmar states of Shan and Kachin] were nevertheless destinations for an intrepid team of scientists from the Nature Conservation Society Myanmar, Fauna & Flora International–Myanmar Programme, the IUCN’s ape specialist group, and field researchers from universities in England, China, and the US.

Together, they conducted acoustic surveys, collected non-invasive DNA sampling, and took photographs for morphological identification at six sites in Kachin State and three sites in Shan State. With the help of the Myanmar conservationists, the team also interviewed locals dwelling in rural forested areas, small conservation programs, and timber companies about the frequency of sightings and the hunting pressure.

Population estimates of unknown quality and scientific rigor conducted in 2013 suggested there might be 65,000 hoolock gibbons in Myanmar, but the matter became much more complicated after the classification of the Skywalker gibbon as a separate species from the eastern hoolock gibbon—where before they were confused as the same.

“We were able to genetically identify 44 new groups of Skywalker gibbons in Myanmar,” said senior author Tierra Smiley Evans, research faculty at the UC Davis School of Veterinary Medicine, and contributing author. “This is a huge resource and success story for Myanmar.”

These gibbons sing to each other at dawn for around 22 minutes, and consume 36 different plant species; choosing fruit first, and flowers later. They seldom sleep in the same tree two nights in a row to avoid predation, and can’t swim so are often confined to territories by river systems.

The team that discovered them in China in 2017 loved Star Wars, and called them tianxing which is Chinese pinyin for “heaven movement;” a nod not only to their favorite sci-fi franchise, but also to China’s ancient history. In the famous Book of Change [aka the I Ching] of the Zhou Dynasty [1046 BCE to 265 BCE], a divination poem refers to gibbons specifically, and uses tianxing as a verb to describe their movements.

The interviews were a source of great data for the scientists. For starters, nearly all individuals in both the Kachin and Shan states could identify a Skywalker gibbon by sight and by playback of its singing, lending the exercise a good degree of reliability...

“Biologists did not believe Skywalker gibbons could live in the small remaining patches in Southern Shan State before we started this project,” Pyae Phyo Aung, executive director of Nature Conservation Society Myanmar, told the UC Davis press.

“I am delighted with our field team members who have done an excellent job, within a short period of time, building community trust for further conservation actions. This area is degraded forest. It is really important for Myanmar and China to consider extending conservation approaches for the Skywalker gibbon to this new geographic area.”

Nearly 32,000 square kilometers, or around 8 million acres of forestland in Eastern Myanmar are suitable gibbon habitat, and while existing forest reserves like Paung Taung and Mae Nei Laung are quite large, they remain unprotected. For this reason, the survey team recommended they remain considered ‘Endangered’ on the IUCN Red List until habitat protections improve."

-via Good News Network, February 21, 2024

[woundgallery]

I don't submit many poems for publication, but I am truly delighted that this old piece found a home in a beautiful volume of Prairie Schooner. I wrote this in April 2016, when I was re-emerging from the most deadening period of my life. As much as this poem, on the surface, is about heartbreak, it is much more about the gift of opening myself once again to communion with others and communion with the mystery of our fragile, interconnected world. The person I wrote this for took me by the hand and--with gentleness and understanding--helped me put aside weariness and remember that the world was a place that could still surprise me with a beauty that surpasses explanation, that cannot be neatly explained and shut away. Though it's been years since we have spoken, I am forever grateful for him.

And, as spring quickens in New York City, I am grateful once more to reflect on all I would have missed if I had not made it through the gauntlet of 2015. I would never have met my cat (and love of my life) Willa who wakes me each morning by wildly purring, head butting me like a baby goat, and nibbling my cheeks and nose because she’s just so happy to see me; hiked on Orcas Island with Michael and found a surprise lake which we named Lake Ineffable (because no name was beautiful enough for it) where we stripped off our clothes and swam and embraced each other, blissfully alone and dazed by superfluous beauty; found out that George Washington National Forest may have more fireflies than anywhere in the world; grown into my vocation as a social worker and been blessed to sit in communion with my clients for eight years; built a beautiful relationship with my parents based on mutual respect, affinity, and humor; seen my friends’ babies discover the world; slept beneath a meteor shower sky on a NYC beach in the arms of a man I was suddenly and entirely falling in love with; discovered Eric Rohmer; discovered Wim Wenders;  moved to Laramie, Wyoming where everything looks like the abandoned set of a Western film where the paint has flaked off but he extras are still wandering around despondently; moved to Montana where I remembered that I am part of the whole, not just a body in passing; woke in Missoula to the cold air seeping through my window—still half in a dream of Oregon in October—and stirred, deliciously alert beside the boy I loved, craning toward his sleepy, freckled back, to clutch him closer, the brisk quickening of fall making my body a new thing—wild and tender and alive; swam naked in the ocean; had the chance to work with my best friends and fall even more in love with the people they are based off the kindness they showed our clients; had my best friends, in turn, respect and love me more based of what they saw me showing clients; sat by a lake at night and felt an earthquake swell like a heartbeat beneath my body; drove from Missoula to Washington, Ryan’s van weaving through a forest fire zone until we reached the pure, amnesiac sweep of the Pacific; discovered Simone Weil; been, not only forgiven, but embraced by the person I most wronged after six years of estrangement; made up a silly-serious shared mythology with Steven about a vulture God named Hamm who watches over us with a severe equanimity; backpacked through Olympic National Park with Michael and seen and been seen by the strange shaggy haired deer and rabbits who looked at us without fear; discovered Agnes Martin; read poetry with my sage & strange Mara; discovered Olivier Messiaen; discovered Mary Ruefle; discovered Ana Mendieta; realized that I like the color yellow; moved to New York City; discovered Carol Rama; learned how to enjoy dancing to music other than punk rock; seen a moose in the wild; spent a summer in that yellow shotgun house with the overgrown yard and the porch overlooking the river where we made dinner each night listening to recordings of bird calls; experienced the delights of solitary sunbathing on Brooklyn roofs; encountered places named Hellgate, Bitterroot, and Rattlesnake; recited The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock at 3 AM, wading in the waters of the Long Island Sound; realized I am capable of keeping houseplants alive; heard the thrumming ecstasy of the grouse's wings; learned the name of those clustered, mustard-colored flowers that grow on the Oregon coast; grew grateful for beauty again, remembering the world is not a place I can neatly explain, cannot fold in linen and shut in a drawer; and, most of all, remembered the daily ways we concede—plainly, without theatrics—to live.

Today I am thankful for those who love me and those who allow me to love them.

[archivist-crow]

On this day:

THE PATTERSON-GIMLIN FILM

On October 20, 1967, Roger Patterson and Bob Gimlin rode their horses along the partially dried Bluff Creek in Northern California, examining the ground as they went. The two men were in search of tracks that would prove the existence of sasquatch. On this day, they rounded a substantial stack of timber that had tumbled together and inadvertently surprised a large hairy creature crouched by a stream. Both horses reared in fright, tossing their riders. Patterson quickly recovered and grabbed his hand-held 16-mm cinecamera. The sasquatch stood and, arms swinging, walked calmly, but quickly into the forest. Patterson ran after the creature.

Gimlin followed at a safe distance, gun at the ready, in case his friend should be attacked. At 80 feet from the animal, Patterson stopped running and began to film. Before the creature completely disappeared, Patterson got a clear look at its conical head, dark fur, and large breasts. The fernale sasquatch was about seven feet tall, had a three-foot shoulder span, and a heavy brow ridge over the eyes of an otherwise flat face. Her weight was calculated to be 700 pounds. The two men took photos and made casts of her 14½-by-6-inch footprints.

Shortly after, Canadian taxidermist Bob Titmus followed the tracks and plotted their route, comparing it to the sasquatch's movements in Patterson's film. He discovered that at one point, the creature sat on a hillside, possibly watching Patterson and Gimlin catch their horses. The Six Rivers National Forest had begun to be a known point of Bigfoot activity after road construction opened up the area ten years earlier. Road workers had noticed a variety of large, humanlike footprints, between twelve and seventeen inches long, in the impressionable ground, and when the newspapers carried a story about the prints, the word bigfoot was coined.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violini, published by Weiser Books, 2009

[madarasgirl]

A Night for Hunting Ch 12 -The Feeling of Safety

T/W: Alucard (Ultimate) x F!Reader, Vladcard (that’s right, daddy makes his appearance), predator/prey, hunting, ruthless vampire king, romance, Romanian translations Words: 4855 On AO3

I am so excited to finally present this chapter! The premise was planned from the beginning and living rent-free in my head (happy to evict it at last) since I decided to extend this series months ago. I hope you like it! I am no history buff, but I did some light reading on Vlad and the contents of this chapter are also based on how Alucard behaves in Ultimate. A bit nervous, but I hope I got the feels right.

Happy belated Mid-Autumn Festival, fellow Chinese and (other nationalities) who celebrate this occasion! The full moon was beautiful.

Many thanks to @michi-tala for helping me with fine-tuning the Romanian phrases!  @alastorhazbin

“You really are a king?" You asked, incredulous. 

How could this be? A king should be the inspirational leader who guides his nation through strife and peace to glory, the shining star who navigates the tumultuous waters of diplomacy and the horrors of battlefields. A ruler with the intellect to create and uphold the laws, social institutions, and infrastructure to bring about prosperity. He should be someone well-versed in the art of war, yet mannered and cultured to mingle with others in his high society of privilege. 

In other words, someone not quite like Alucard The Boor, who was inflexible about negotiations, poorly socialized, and a stalker to boot. What kind of king had the time to stalk some peasant woman for two years just for fun?

You however had to reconsider your conclusions. The longer you stared at that cocky profile, the more obvious it became that if you squinted, there perhaps was something a little regal about him. He was certainly not lacking in intelligence. And sometimes he demonstrated highly sophisticated mannerisms when he felt like playing the gentleman. He even spoke like a snobby British aristocrat.

Alucard chuckled to himself quietly at your racing thoughts. His eyes closed at the distant recollection of his past. At nearly six centuries of age, he found himself often ruminating about the past, whether as a human or vampire, but when pondering his first life, it was like reliving someone else’s. He remembered the anger, pain, and humiliation vividly. There was regret about his upbringing and later decisions as voivode, even if there were those actions during his reign that were necessary for the survival of his country and Christianity, and parts of Europe continued to view him as a hero to this day. But it all happened so long ago, he barely felt anything anymore, except a faraway, numb regret. 

He was silent when recalling the fresh woodsy scent of the fir trees in his mountains. How he loved to ride through their forests with the wind in his face when he went hunting. His city Târgoviște possessed beauty beyond imagination, before he burnt it down and turned it into a desolate forest of corpses. Perhaps there was some melancholy when reminiscing about his homeland.

Warm fingers landed lightly on the sigils adorning the back of his gloves. Feline eyes opened to narrow slits to watch you looking at him with a questioning stare. It seemed you were finished with mocking his ways in your head.

Flattering child. Innocent little human. You know not of the monster you have involved yourself with, he thought.

“Cetatea (Citadel) Poenari sat atop the mountains. In its prime, it was an impregnable fortress with steep walls that offered a spectacular view of the forested canyon on the Argeș River. You would have appreciated its beauty.”

“Was that your home?” You asked.

“One of them. Its ruins are in what is now known as Romania.”

Wide eyes stayed on him before curving with merriment. “I think I would love to visit your old home one day.” Your wrist flicked in his direction to gesture at his dress clothes. “Did you look like this back then too? There’s no way you dressed this loudly then, right, Your Majesty?” You snickered while putting emphasis on his royal title.

He turned his hand over to grasp your fingers in his. “You wish to see me? All of me?" His brow rose as he evaluated you.

The room chilled suddenly and you hesitated. His shadow was facing toward the light, reaching for you, and the silhouette was wrong. You’ve already seen his flowing shadows, extra eyes, and bats, as well as when he assumed the face of another man. Was there more? Something forbidding was in the air.

“Umm…not the bugs. Please never the bugs again,” you whispered, trying to keep the mood easy tonight.

The orangey-yellow in his eyes spun like molten gold as he petted your fingers before lacing your hands together. Alucard leaned towards you, and as he did, he changed. This was important. Somehow you knew what Alucard was about to show you was intimate, a secret he did not carelessly share with others. You stopped breathing as you watched his transformation happen before your eyes.

Raven locks lengthened until his hair was past his thighs, phantom wind making the ends billow in the air like they were alive. Gangly arms filled out, his chest growing broad and putting on hard muscle in seconds. His red duster turned liquid and flowed over the heavy armour that materialized, settling into a black cape that was as intangible as his tresses at the frayed, surging ends.  

His angular features grew wider at the cheeks, jawline becoming chiselled and covered with coarse stubble. The fiery gaze burned with wisdom and life experience. You had no words as you got a better look at this imposing man who now stood towering over you with his arms at his side.

"This was how I appeared as a human when I perished."

You stared at him from the couch, sitting with your legs in front of you in a “W.” Your mouth was parted as your eyes slid sluggishly over this dark warrior with disbelief. Power rolled off of him. It was in his bearing, the deadly grace with which he conducted himself, and the way the air was not quite right around him.

"You really are breathtakingly beautiful," you told him. 

Alucard purred at your praise and your skin tingled. His rumblings were deeper than normal and it was so unexpected despite his now stockier build. 

“...May I… touch you?” 

Golden-orange glinted with warmth as this stranger stooped down for you to inspect his new body. You tentatively brought your hand up to his face and stroked his cheek. Cold. This Alucard’s skin was still cool to touch. The texture though, that beard was so scratchy. You ran your fingers through his hair, which was as soft as you remembered, but now so long you didn’t even reach the ends with your arm fully extended. 

His name was an anagram. Alucard was a Romanian vampire. Your idiot brain finally made the connection that was in front of you this whole time.

“...You actually are Dracula?” The Son of the Dragon, a king and warlord from the Middle Ages. Probably one of the oldest –and strongest– of vampires.

“You are speaking to Count Dracula of Wallachia.”

You shivered at his voice. Even his accent was different, so foreign and exotic. It did things to you, but your mind had always been stronger.

If memory served you correctly, history did not have favourable things to say about the real Dracula. The Sir Impaler staked people, including women and children, for all sorts of reasons and no reason as well –as a gruesomely effective warfare tactic, for sport, and petty offences alike. He was the king who invited the sick and homeless to his keep for a feast and burnt them alive as a way to empty the streets.

“Yes, I commanded all of those acts in my past life.”

Fright blemished your features and you jerked away until Dracula’s gauntlet shot out to catch you and bring your palm back to his face. He took in the thin line your lips formed and the furrowed brows around your spooked gaze. 

“But that will not be a fate reserved for you,” he promised with a sombre expression. Your eyes searched his face to judge his sincerity, wanting more than anything to continue trusting him after learning his identity, even when forced to confront the reality of the nature of your relationship. 

It was wrong.

The king before you stood tall, his dignified comportment unwavering after the passage of centuries of grim tales told about him. He did not lie to you, nor did he offer excuses for himself. His noble features, proud and uncompromising, were solemn as you contemplated him. 

Alucard never lifted a finger against you.

The warlord’s wicked piety preceded him, his prestige vicious and calculated. Any means to achieve his ends, which left ruination in his wake. Everywhere he went, he sowed destruction and instilled fear, even amongst his own people. 

He was not mentally well.

If Alucard did not care for you, you would be worse off than dead. 

Yes, by showing how he was a murderous vampire, an undead hellspawn who didn't die when he was supposed to.

He was violent and dangerous. What in the world were you doing with him?

You had your wellbeing and that of your family to worry about. What if entwining your fate with his ended in trouble that somehow found its way to them? Even as Alucard, he could be sadistic, harassing and nearly driving you to madness long ago. He continued to enjoy aggravating you and at times made you angry beyond belief.

You should not be with him. Tears came to your eyes.

But time and time again, Alucard came to protect you and went out of his way to take steps ensuring your safety and comfort. He looked after you when you were incapable and let you in on secrets about himself.

You fought with yourself. Alucard and this stranger before you were in fact one and the same. For all his nefarious ways, he did have honour, in his own twisted way. 

You were past the point of right or wrong.

The heart was never rational. You wanted to remain with him. So with an uncertain quivering heart, you chose him too. You got on your knees and went up to this infamous veteran to huddle against his chest, needing to see if the sense of security you felt whenever Alucard was near was present with this form of his too. You couldn’t even look at him.

Vermilion flames smouldered gently without your notice.

A hand went delicately across your back to hold you close for several moments before tracing along your shoulder blades. An arm went around you and settled at your waist. Then multiple shadow tendrils wrapped you loosely around the ankles, thighs, and biceps. You shuddered at the electric contact with his darkness. Prickly stubble dug into your chin as this king claimed your lips for his own. He was as gentle as Alucard. It was comforting and eased your unsettled thoughts.

You finally pulled apart.

“You are timid with me,” he announced, breastplate vibrating with the bass of his voice. 

“Everything we do is new,” you said as you put your arms around an icy plated torso and watched the end of his cape twirl. His lips chased yours as you looked away again. Relaxing into his embrace, you whispered, ”I can’t believe you are real,” as if speaking louder would make him disappear like a mirage.

“The legends have a basis.”

He ran the backside of an armoured finger across your cheek. His expression was soft as you met his gaze again, nothing as severe as his rugged appearance suggested. The shadows enveloping your limbs flared.

“What say you? Would you like to be one of my kind?"

Huh? He meant…he meant turning you into a vampire? And offering you eternity?

Again you tensed. He was serious. The weight of his question hung in the air between you until you gulped and averted your eyes, nervousness tainting the air thickly.

"I suppose it is too soon to ask you this." The hand came to rest on your head where he ruffled your hair. You glanced up at him in surprise.

Dracula smiled at you. "My Darling."

--------------------

The gleaming silver orb above loomed large, illuminating the navy skies with an ethereal haze. The moon was full, just like that first night, so clear you could see every crater on her surface. Your anxiety around Dracula gradually dissipated. He had a much quieter disposition than the normal him, but honestly, a break from his usual provocative ways was appreciated. He was still the same person, you reminded yourself. You began to close the distance between you incrementally and walk closer until you brushed his side with every stride.

It was not yet Halloween. Actually, it was nowhere near that month of haunting. Anyone who happened upon the pair of you would find his full body armour odd. It was mildly ironic for you to comment about Alucard’s unconventional clothing, only for his ‘true’ appearance to be just as outlandish for these modern times. What did you expect? It seemed the king captured people’s attention no matter what he did in whichever era.

The relaxing stroll was picturesque. For once, the streetlights functioned as they should and lit up the quaint storefronts without Alucard’s interference. The boulevards were clean and the summer air fresh, but clamorous with singing crickets. The engines of the occasional car rumbled in the distance and punctured the tranquility. The first vampire let you lead the walk, wordlessly following you through every turn as he sensed your worries ebb with each passing minute, enjoying the way you eventually bumped against him with each step. 

A warm breeze brought the perfume of the faint sweat trailing behind you into his sinuses. His vampiric senses were hyper-aware of your presence, such as how your little heart pumped hot blood through your veins with each thud while you continued to wander.

How he missed roaming the nights together.

Vampires were natural hunters. It couldn’t be helped. Orange gold deepened into a lustrous crimson as his pupils narrowed into predatory slits.

Alucard was no longer beside you. There was only empty space and silence when even the insects fell quiet. Spinning around to seek him, you heard heavy purring in your head as fallen leaves rustled about in a swirling circle around you. 

"What are you waiting for Dear? RUN." A pointy nose poked your ear.

Jumping at the familiar voice, you felt the solid presence of him sighing into your ear from behind as he purred and nudged you.

Oh? He wanted to play? You unfroze with a smile, not needing to be instructed again. You took off, but it was different this time. You were able to see your path well enough to not trip over yourself, rapidly finding a way from the streets where the stray vehicle still roved and into pedestrian side roads.

Unlike past chases, there was no panic or fear. Despite your earlier misgivings, you could barely even remember why you were terrified of Alucard stalking you after all this time together. As you zipped through the desolate night streets, your heart pounded with exhilaration the longer you ran. It felt good to set aside your worries for now and just enjoy your time together. 

Alucard, you are here?

The shadows followed you with ease in the corners of your eyes. The rich, sanguine glow to their edges was a dead giveaway. You laughed as you took a turn leading you someplace you've never been before in the dead of night. With the knowledge that Alucard was with you, the night became a game full of mystery and adventure. 

He caught you by the waist, hauling you back to his chest while the arm that held you slowly slipped up your torso until he seized your breasts. The wandering hands were metallic and frigid against your skin. 

“If this was a real hunt, it would have concluded. It'd be sensible to surrender yourself to me now.” 

You squirmed in his hold with a breathless titter, earning a hiss in your ear and a lick to your cheek before he let you go. You giggled and used the opportunity to slither away and scamper off.

You ran and ran from his harrying; repeatedly he would catch and wrestle with you before you were released. The most brazen event was when he suddenly appeared and let you run face first into him, then stroked languidly down your rear until you found your bearings and escaped. How he taunted you.

Eventually you came to a stop when your breath escaped in soft pants, shirt clinging with your exertion. You looked around for somewhere else to go and perhaps hide so your vampire had to search before bolting again when you didn’t find a spot to your satisfaction. You didn't know where you were going at all, just making turn after turn wherever you could –through unlit alleys and parks and crossing under bridges, until you arrived at a ravine to recover. 

The vampire was nowhere to be seen. You snickered upon hearing something drop and a crackle in the dark. "Y–you don't scare me anymore. Just come out," you gasped out. 

Words that were spoken too soon. Trouble slid out of the shadows as several ruffians leered at you. Forcibly exhaling, you inched back at their appearances, ready to dash away in the direction you came from. Needles, used condoms, and other garbage littered the ground and the air was dank with the stench of old urine and vomit. So you stumbled into the derelict quarters of society’s undesirables, but you did not want their acquaintance.

"Leaving so soon, pretty bird?" One of the skinnier blokes sneered. He was covered in ugly tattoos.

“Why don’t you stay awhile and keep us company?” Another said. He was just as ratty as the first, but smiled as he approached. Their sinister intentions were clear as day, despite the false nicety.

“Yeah, we don’t often have the pleasure of such lovely companionship.” The third stood back where it was too dark to distinguish his features.

I do not appreciate others interrupting my hunt. Leave. 

The muted voice simultaneously thundered and the brutes shouted at the vacant surroundings.

“Who’s there?” 

“Piss off, wanker!” Tough words from the men, but you were already apprehensive not for yourself, but them.

The shadows at your feet bubbled up. 

“What the fuck?!” One of the hooligans hollered in shock at the mass of darkness that grew from the ground in front of you. He glanced back at his friends before squaring his shoulders.

The man crashed into an ancient conifer and was held there several feet off the ground, gasping for breath as he was slowly flattened –his face gave in first, the nose and lips crumbling inwards. It was as if he was submitted to the work of a hydraulic press. He heaved with effort to break free as his eyes bulged and his chest squeezed tight, unable to even scream under the crushing compression.

As you watched in shock, the death happened too quickly to process, yet like time slowed for you as well. His head popped like a gusher with blood jetting from both ears. You saw every detail as the ruffian's body was squashed by an invisible force until even his bones gave out and he became a splatter of viscera decorating the bark. Only a hand remained intact, but even that snapped at the wrist without a surface behind it to counteract the pressure.

You screamed at the crunching horror when it finally ended with a wet splat. 

Alucard rescued you yet again. He appeared nonchalant about his victim's barbaric demise, his stance at complete ease.

“!!!” Your would-be assailants were initially speechless as they jittered back at the supernatural display of violence.

One of the remaining men sniffled, swiping his nose as he howled,  “Arsehole!”

There was white powder dusting the ground and around their nostrils. They were high, which explained the ongoing aggression and bravado as knives came out. Your gaze flickered up to Alucard’s face.

You knew that maniacal grin, the one that reminded you of when you first saw him at work. No. All your fears about him resurfaced. You forgot how to breathe as you darted in front of him to cling to his arm. 

"You can't kill them!" You yelled.

Being with him was wrong.

He paused, the king's gaze sliding to yours with a bored expression. "Why?" He drawled callously.

He was violent and dangerous.

“Because you can't just go around killing people!"

"Why?"

Omfg did Alucard think he was the Terminator? As ridiculous as the exchange was, this was no movie. Alucard’s eyes narrowed as a savage aura flared and pulsed with danger when the remaining two men floundered backwards in jerky movements. Perhaps their sense of self-preservation was still existent.

Dracula’s baleful glare did not conceal his wrath. These worthless lowlives dared not only threaten you, but if it weren't for his presence, they would have violated you in the most disgusting of ways in this dirty scum hole. He knew it, because he could sense their base desires and the opportunistic evil that lay dormant within them. He too was a creature of the abyss who knew darkness when he encountered it. 

Unspeakable rage tainted his thoughts with promised violence. Their perverted longings were the ultimate transgression against you. It was unforgivable. You may be soft and kind, but he was not known for mercy. Rapists should be staked and displayed for others as a warning. 

There were millions of other ways he could end them and The Impaler started listing them. He could telepathically wipe their memories and order them gone, which was always the simplest solution when it came to nosy humans, but he wanted these ones dead.

He lifted his hand before you desperately caught it between both of yours and pushed it down, hoping to hold him back. Your stomach churned from his glower as you imagined what he was going to do to them. How many times was he going to shoot them? Or was he going to rip them apart with his bare hands instead? Would there even be anything left of them when he was satisfied with the mutilation?

“They didn’t do anything to me, I’m okay! Let’s just go home!” You pleaded.

“You do not get to decide who must die, draga mea."

"ALUCARD!"

"Alucard is not here right now." 

Wha-

The crimson gaze flicked back up at the interlopers and blazed with fury as the pair of imbeciles decided it was prudent to use your interference with his punishment as a means to flee. Their human movements were sluggish to his vision and reflexes anyways. He knew their intentions the moment they thought it, caught the twitching of muscles as they began to turn and run in slow motion. Cowards who could not even face their well-deserved execution.

So they should lose their legs first. 

They froze after mistakenly meeting Death’s gaze and receiving the order to remain motionless. The shadows licked at his feet and twisted, rising to whip about in the air. 

Shit. But –this was your vampire. At the same time, this was evidently someone else, a warrior. A king. How were you supposed to address him? Your Majesty? Dracula? That was his title and name. But what was his name? You were frantic. Think! What was it again?! 

"...Vlad…Please don't do this, I beg you…" Hauling all your weight, you threw yourself at him, the tears now falling freely as his tendrils stretched and lashed towards his latest quarries. How did it go from a beautiful moonlit walk together to this bloodbath?!

Through the fog of his ire drifted another scent beyond the putrid fear of his prey. Your fear. He saw the dread in your eyes. Countless others have made the same face while grovelling at his feet for mercy. You however, were not begging for yourself, but the remaining rotten swine behind you. He growled with displeasure at what you asked of him, the mind running feral with imagery of what he wanted to do, waiting impatiently for the miscreants to give him another reason to end them.

The Nosferatu glanced back at you. Your face was the same as that time, when he vanquished the undead that hunted you. He really was a monster. You were afraid of him. 

Upon realizing you had your vampire’s attention, you tried to reach him further. “Just…just take the blood of the one who's already dead. And then…" your voice cracked and dropped to a whisper. "Let's go home. Please."

He focused on everything that was you, on the salt of your tears and sweat overlying body lotion. Your desperation. In the background were the pungent stench of gore and the unwashed bodies of men. The king growled as he stared at you again. It was your second thoughts about what you were getting yourself into by being with him that did it. He snuffed out his need to kill as he came back to himself.

You were petrified about what was next, but Dracula won’t let you regret your decision to stay. He did not wish to prove your trust in him was misplaced or that your reservations about him were well-founded. 

“Since this is one of the only requests my darling little human has ever made of me, I shall grant clemency this time,” he snarled through razor teeth. The paralyzed men cowered at the demon in front of them, at last recognizing how close to Death’s door they came. 

"Vermin such as yourselves aren't worth the effort anyways." The unholy king’s eyes glowed with a hellish light. "Leave," he commanded. 

Under hypnotism, a ring of scarlet surrounded their irises and the thugs slunk away with a dazed expression. They were at last permitted to go through with their flight and disappear back into the bowels of London as his gaze bore holes through the backs of their skulls.

The danger passed. You were hiding behind the vampire, who felt your anxiety when his attention turned back to you. He could not fault your distaste for brutality and death. Despite his blinding fury moments ago, he was unable to maintain his anger with you. His expression lightened.

Silence. 

You licked your lips, trembling with a bone-deep fear you hadn't felt in a long time. “Are you not going to drink his blood?" Staring everywhere except at your saviour, you eyed the corpse of squished organs, bones, and flesh painting the vegetation.

"Do you seek your meals from the gutter?" He snorted, eying the pile with disdain. "Besides… you are more than enough." The vampire grinned, a single fang glinting in the gloom like he just told you the best inside joke.

Your eyes widened at the unexpected change in atmosphere from the offhand comment. Alucard and his mood swings. 

Taking a deep breath to soothe yourself, the tension was slow to leave you. You looked at him again. "Thank you for stopping," you told him with honest relief.

"Little one, you are safe when you walk the night with me. Nothing will harm you," he said as he faced you fully and brushed your cheeks gently.

You held his hand to your face, opening it up and leaning your cheek into the icy steel. He took a step to his right to block the view when you tried to examine the remains of the body turned into slush. A layer of clouds blocked the meager light of the moon so you couldn’t see it anyways. All you saw was the sunset in your vampire’s eyes.

You gulped. The eldritch power surrounding the vampire wrapped around you, and instinctively you knew it was cold, but you felt warm and safe on the inside. It felt like you were home. 

"I believe you." You took the single step to close the distance between you and pressed up flush against the vampire.

Affection kindled in those stunning eyes. There it was, behind the face of another man, this ruthless king, was the Alucard you knew and fell for. Your expression broke as you buried your face in his chest, needing reassurance as the mess that came to pass tonight caught up with you.

He was caressing your head again, tousling it to the beat of your heart when you peeked up at him with dewy-eyed innocence. Resplendent little human, he will shelter you from the horrors of the world.

"Luna vieții mele."

"Pardon?"

"Tu ești luna vieții mele."

You blinked in confusion, straining to try catching the gist of his words, but it was hopeless. Fortunately many Latin languages share some similarities. You were reasonably sure he mentioned the moon.

"Și fără tine, nu există lumină."

How infuriating. If there was something Vlad wanted to say to you, he could just do so directly instead of using a foreign language you didn’t understand for dramatic effect.

"What does that mean?"

He gave you a cryptic smile and offered his arm. “It is time to return." 

Yeah right, like hell it did. He said a lot more words than if he was just talking about going home. You stared at the outstretched arm of a gallant Medieval man, brows crinkling when he did not elaborate. It seemed you would have to figure out the meaning yourself.

You curled in to stay close to him, placing your hand on his arm and weaving your fingers around the crook of Dracula’s elbow so he could lead you home through the dark of night.

~To be Continued~

Ch. 13- TBD? "Stargazers in Romania"

Notes: Alucard really doesn’t like rapists.

Even knowing Alucard shapeshifts, it’ll take getting used to his other forms. It’d be weird if someone just accepts another body/face/voice/personality as their SO upon the first time meeting them, right? At least I think so. The Count is ‘her’ Alucard, for now at least.

This chapter isn't meant to be a character analysis of the historical person's actions, but more the reservations a rational person should have when deciding whether to stay as freaking Vlad III Dracula's SO.

It is admittedly a bit cliche that Alucard is always just in time to save the Reader from her demise, but in my other Hellsing work, she names him her “guide and guardian (angel).” The title is well-deserved.

*The next chapter will be delayed because I will be going on my honeymoon for several weeks. I’ll likely be able to fit in some writing time as we travel between countries. I’ll probably also be using that time to continue planning Part 2 of this story (we aren’t there yet). Yes that’s right, Millennium will feature in this fic, although I will only loosely follow the canon Ultimate events and be taking some liberties with how vampire things work.*

Buckle up, we’re only about half-way. I estimate there to be around 23-26 or so chapters in total to complete this fic, although later chapters will likely be shorter.

[rabbitcruiser]

Jasper National Park, AB (No. 2)

Jasper National Park's name originates from Jasper Haws, a Maryland-born fur trader who worked for the North West Company. In 1815, Haws took command of a North West Company trading post, built on Brûlé Lake in 1813, which subsequently became known as Jasper's House. In 1830, the trading post was relocated further up the Athabasca River, just north of Jasper Lake. The site of Jasper House itself was designated a national historic site in 1924.

Jasper House was destroyed in 1910, but it gave its name to both the national park, and the town of Jasper within the Park.

Jasper Forest Park was established by a federal order in council on September 14, 1907. The park's establishment was spurred by plans for the construction of a second Canadian transcontinental railway, which was to cross the Rocky Mountains at Yellowhead Pass; Jasper Park was intended to be developed into an alpine resort in the mould of Rocky Mountains Park, with a train station, tourist hotels, and a service town. Collectively, the mountain parks were intended as a sort of wilderness playground for middle-class workers, an antidote to the malaise of modern life. However, the vision of wilderness on which the development plan depended was at odds with the presence of long-established Métis homesteaders within the boundaries of the park, many of whom were descended from the white and Haudenosaunee fur traders and trappers employed by the North West Company and the Hudson's Bay Company in the 19th century. In 1909, six Métis families were declared squatters, paid compensation for improvements made to the land, including buildings, ditches, and fences, and ordered to leave the park.

Source: Wikipedia

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Biodiversity COP: Hold-ups and cash shortfalls threaten forests

The first stop on the road from Cali to Belém, the UN conference in Colombia brought wins to Indigenous peoples, but failed to ensure commitments from wealthy countries to protect the environment

Concita Sõpré speaks with calm. She enunciates each syllable of her Portuguese and waits patiently for a translation to English. She is seated on stage at a table in a noisy room where heads of state, representatives from non-governmental organizations, and community leaders from around the world are speaking to the press, hoping to be heard. The cacophony of voices seeping in from outside the room make it hard for those seated furthest away to understand her. But she has plenty to tell these distant ears: “We preserve for those yet to come. For my grandchildren, my great-grandchildren. That is why this forest exists. That is why clean water and animals still exist,” she says. “What part of what we’re saying does the world still not understand?” she asks.

Concita sees firsthand how life’s time is not bureaucratic time. She is in Cali, Colombia, taking part in events at the COP-16, the UN Biodiversity Conference, where leaders from around the globe are discussing how to save the Nature their very societies have destroyed.

Two years ago, at the COP-15 meeting in Canada, the agreement struck by the nations, the Kunming-Montreal Global Biodiversity Framework, was lauded as ambitious. They planned to raise the world’s preserved land area from 17% to 30% and water and sea areas from 10% to 30%. They would additionally restore 30% of already degraded areas. To do this, developed countries would contribute US$ 20 billion a year by 2025.

In 2022, there were eight years left for countries to finalize the plan. Now they have six. At this COP-16 meeting, referred to as the “implementation COP” behind the scenes, they are supposed to show their progress and align on the details for reaching this goal, but there has been hardly any movement. Most of them have yet to introduce even one action plan to reach the targets, as agreed two years earlier. And just 2% of the preservation money owed by developed countries has been guaranteed so far. The COP meeting in Cali did manage to bring in more civic participation – there were a record number of delegations and side events with Indigenous communities, Afro-descendants, and civil society organizations, which ensured bigger gains in the final text. Yet no advances were made on the main issue: guaranteeing money to keep the forest standing. It was a wasted opportunity on the road from Cali to Belém, the pair of conferences in Amazonian countries that will include a Climate COP meeting in Pará in 2025, while also raising major expectations for the forest.

Never has so much life been lost and, according to the Intergovernmental Science-Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services, a group of over 150 scientists, 75% of the Earth has already changed due to human action. Reducing devastation and letting the forest grow are two fundamental fronts in tackling the climate crisis. The Amazon, Pantanal and Cerrado are on fire. Droughts have made dozens of rivers into deserts. Violent flooding ravaged Porto Alegre months ago. During the COP-16, floods killed over 200 people in Spain.

Continue reading.

[omophagic-beast]

A look at the Mantles of Before the Flood: Land

Before the Flood launches in a week! (A fact which I'm very excited about, and not at all nervous about for sure.) Which gives me the perfect amount of time to start talking about the Mantles, the roles players take on in the game.

There are six of them, Land, Legend, Nature, Nation, Weal, and Woe. Each representing a fundamental force in the world, and each using their own mechanics and playstyle to do so.

We'll start, as is custom, with Land.

Land was the mantle of the very firmament that expands beneath our feet. With time, even the earth can shift, and Land embraced change with the same steadfast demeanor it awoke with.

Land is the mantle of the earth itself, carving valleys and building mountains. It is that which marks the map while the rest deliberate over details.

To play as Land, you'll need four casting stones, two in a light color and two in a dark color, as well as something to write with and something spacious to write on.

Land starts off each round of Before the Flood by casting their stones onto their paper, with the light ones marking areas of high altitude on the map and the darker ones marking areas of low altitude. Land decides how these areas are marked to show this, and while the round continues onward and the other mantles take their turns, Land stays dedicated to their parchment, pen constantly moving to add various features.

They can add anything from forests to deserts, rivers and roads, waterfalls and lakes, whatever they feel fits. However, importantly, Land does not add the landmarks to the map. Landmarks being the named items of importance that the other mantles create over play.

Whether it's a field of flowers, a library, The In-Kind Fox, Folt’s Featherstitched Forge of Fiction, or simply something strange and new, all landmarks are marked down by Legend.

Who I'll talk more about tomorrow! In the meantime you can presave Before the Flood on Backerkit to be notified when the campaign goes live. Who knows, maybe if we get 100 presaves before launch I'll have something special to show off ;3

Legend has been posted, check it out here!

[horce-divorce]

NOAA finally has a predictive map to show how water levels in Michigan/the great lakes region could adjust with climate change. (Having a hell of a time finding the link to the actual tool, but i think its this one.) I'm really interested in this bc for YEARS everyone has said "coastal regions will be the most affected" but also that "the great lakes will be relatively protected" in the same breath. Really, the only prediction I've seen is that we will get hella climate refugees from the drought-ridden areas. In fact, some people I've spoken with have had an outright blase attitude about how climate change is going to hit Michigan.

I've been trying to find info about the coastlines and weather changing for four YEARS and haven't been able to find anything other than "no one knows, but NOAA is watching it." NOAA has a fuckton of really interesting sea vessels and research initiatives around here btw! I follow their aurora forecast religiously, they have all kinds of ROVs that explore the formations and sinkholes ans shipwrecks at the bottoms of the lakes, and now this, which I've obviously been waiting for someone to address.

If you live in the coastal region of Michigan you can SEE it happening in real time. Cliffs eroding, homes spilling into the sea, the shoreline and water levels changing dramatically between seasons. When I was a kid, there were yards and yards worth of beach and dunes to walk across to get to the water. Like easily half a block or more. When I came back in 2020, there was about 6 feet of beach. In just 4 years, the water levels have gone back and forth so much that it goes from being like this- so flooded there's no more beach- to Hamlin Lake this spring, following the extreme lack of snowfall:

My parents took these a few weeks ago. This is a lake, not a river or a creek. This is typically a BEACH. There is a dam on the far side of this lake. There are boardwalks to walk across the water and places where usually, you'd be able to kayak or canoe under the bridge. This campground is one of the most sought after, highest rated campgrounds in the entire United States. You have to reserve on New Years the minute they open registration to get a site.

Tbf Hamlin Lake is enormous, but the part that's dry.... is also not small, and its THE spot, right at the campsite. I highlighted it here.

Seeing it this dry is at least as shocking as going to lake michigan and seeing the water level randomly get so high you can't even put a towel down. It's at least as shocking as how unbelievably violent the wind and weather has gotten, how common gale force winds strong enough to shake houses and tear off siding are, the way they cannot reliably predict even normal weather on the coast anymore. The way the popup storms loom, undetected on the radar. It's at least as shocking as watching the dunes get smaller and smaller and cleave apart the more erosion they undergo, the more people that walk on them, watching the dunegrass and the scraggly beach trees straining at the roots to hold the earth together. It's at least as shocking as every time I've seen they clear cut a new swath of national forest for cabin rentals. We can't keep doing this. We can't keep doing this we can't keep doing this.

Anyway, this is just your friendly reminder that the Great Lakes ARE, in fact, part of America's coastal region. they are inland, freshwater seas rather than "lakes" as the names imply, and they, too, cannot remain unchanged by global warming.

Remember this when you think about the six YEARS it took for Flint to get clean water.

Just some food for thought.

[pickleweed2]

A beautiful patch of Checker Lilies, Fritillaria affinis, in Oregon White Oak (Quercus garryana) / Black Oak (Quercus kelloggi) woodland, above the Trinity River.

Six Rivers National Forest, California

[valhikes]

Six Rivers National Forest, California

The back again portion of the trip.

[wrathofrats]

Hiiiii I’ve seen some perfume posts going around and I’ve decided to make one for the old ghouls

Everything is purely based on vibes and what I think fits them best! Era 1- 3 ghouls (:

Alpha:

Smells of something smoky, mechanical. As bright as a factory fire.

- https://www.sirensongelixirs.com/products/archangel-mass-effect-garrus-inspired-perfume-blue-steel-icy-musk-leather-black-pepper-coal-gunpowder-sandalwood-vegan-indie

Blue steel, icy musk, kiss of leather, black pepper, dry coal & hint of gunpowder, citrus, & soft woods.

-https://six-scents.com/products/ierofante

Suede, Gasoline Accord, Nutmeg, Styrax Pyrogene, Smoky Leather, Golden Amber, Cashmeran, Vetiver

Omega:

Like a hug from an old familiar book, something intellectual and dusty

-https://us.akrofragrances.com/products/ink

Vetiver, Black Ink, Jasmine, Birch

- https://nuicobaltdesigns.com/products/bibliophilia?variant=31891723386957

The vanillic scent of aging paper, the tang of fresh ink, venerable bookshelves of oak and mahogany, a sweet trace of pipe tobacco, an undercurrent of faded leather. Wear this subtle potion to invoke spirits of arcane knowledge and empower your perceptions.

Water:

Bright crispy and refreshing. Smells of tropical waters and the feeling of meeting your childhood best friend on a beach

- https://www.smallflower.com/products/outremer-oceane-eau-de-toilette-1_7-fl-oz?variant=37056704610455

Let the scent of ocean mist transport you to the Southern coast of France, where the bright, fresh Mediterranean sea fragrances the air. Oceane is a mix of marine notes that conjures the salty, sultry allure of the beach.

-https://www.sephora.com/product/skylar-salt-air-eau-de-parfum-P456975?skuId=2468445&icid2=seop_2_title

Salt Air is the fragrance of a perfect seascape with notes of sea salt to give you a fresh-out-the-water feeling. Grounding driftwood and green seaweed mingle with light floral notes of water lily for a perfume that smells of endless summers and breezy, beachy days.

Earth:

Like a dark soil. A deep ancient being buried beneath the ground. Ominous greenery

- https://www.poesieperfume.com/featured-collection-ss/enchanted-forest

Notes: ancient hinoki trees shading moss covered stones, playful forest spirits, bone musk, a hint of gunpowder

-https://fantomeperfume.com/products/ruslan

Black spruce, smoky opopanax, oud, fresh cedar, hinoki, dry fir needles, oakmoss, frankincense, black tea.

Air:

Like a breath of fresh air. Air smells like the first deep breath in a national park

- https://www.victorinox.com/global/en/Products/Fragrances/For-Her/Morning-Dew/p/V0000897

Swiss made revitalizing scent interweaving a sheer citrus blend of lemon, bergamot and mandarin with white violet and airy musk.

-https://altraprofuture.com/products/ghost-flower

A maximalist gathering of smokey woods, rich resins and a singular White Lily. Notes of unripe tropical fruits surround the full-bodied floral, bringing an unexpected neon brightness. Bohemian at its heart, this evocative floral is enveloped by a veil of incense, leathery saffron and unifying spice.

Delta:

Something dark and horrifying. Like a terrible atrocity has occurred but you can’t place what makes you feel like something’s watching you

- https://sucreabeille.com/products/seems-legit

Rotten river mud, a few drops of blood, a swirl of tobacco smoke, sweet pumpkin pie, candy corn, tears.

- https://eaudespace.com/products/eau-de-space-the-smell-of-space-100ml

Latex, metallic, fire, gunpowder, rum and bitter almonds

Pebble:

Mossy. the smell of sitting on a rock the day after it rains

-https://www.cbihateperfume.com/0069

The smell of pavement on a rainy day

-https://alkemiaperfumes.com/products/gaea-perfume-oil-forest-loam-ferns-decaying-leaves-lichens-wet-stones

Forest loam under warm spring sunshine, new ferns poking up through decaying leaves, maple sap flowing over lichens, mosses and wet stones at the edge of a vernal pool.

Cowbell:

Warm and sterile. Light a brightly lit well lived in hospital room

- https://www.toskovat.com/product/anarchist-a_/

Top notes: credit cards, snow, whiskey

Heart notes: dirty dollars, ink, candle wax

Base notes: green sacra resin, holy water, old confession room, priest’s clothes, plastic bag

White-collared promises that children follow, a better tomorrow. Only if you work for it

for every tomorrow.

And me, waiting in the cold, snow on my face, rye in my pocket, hoping for answers for a different age.

Society remains dying. And we have killed it. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers?

- https://fzotic.com/products/room-237

a bracing vinyl shower curtain note followed by a supernatural green-floral accord that includes wild fleabane and estragon. In the base: whispering aquatic notes that smell like cool steam haunt a blend of soft woods, opoponax, and costus root.

Mist:

Refreshing and feminine. Crisp ocean air on a cold winter night

-https://forstrangewomen.com/products/siren?variant=31095095361633

Siren opens with a salty overtone of Pacific Ocean air and Jasmine vines filled with tiny white blossoms along the coastal landscape. The blend dives deeper into the water with notes of seaweed, driftwood, and ambergris, finished with a bonfire on the beach.

-https://imaginaryauthors.com/products/every-storm-a-serenade?gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAiAzJOtBhALEiwAtwj8tmsMiNIu7KuYJkeTgspW3Noe-Ck6deUEdECrK-ihHLGqGTFPuXcnDRoCChEQAvD_BwE&variant=30276992729165

Danish Spruce, Eucalyptus, Vetiver, Calone, Ambergris, Baltic Sea Mist

Ivy:

Sweet and inviting, like your grandmas garden after she waters it.

-https://margotelena.com/products/poison-ivy-eau-de-parfum

An ode to the powers of nature. Intoxicating notes of sumptuous Bergamot are lavishly laced with blooming florals of Eden Rose and Lily of the Valley, a tangle of Orris Root completes this brush with a dangerous beauty.

- https://www.perfumesclub.us/en/4711/acqua-cologne-blood-orange-basil-eau-de-cologne-spray/p_44880/

Acqua Colonia Blood Orange & Basil combines the aroma of exotic flowering blood oranges with the characteristic essence of basil.

Ifrit:

Warm and sweet. Masculine but comforting, like a hug from someone you love most

- https://www.vixtorm.co.uk/products/lava-cinnamon-b

Balsamic,earth,rich,root,smoke,spice,sweet,warm

- https://www.doctorsweettooth.com/products/cinnamon-bun-perfume-oil-roll-on

Irresistibly sticky and sweet cinnamon buns, the aroma of cinnamon spice and warm flakey pastry dripping with icing wafting through the kitchen

Zephyr:

Spicy, crispy, hurts upon first wiff but is addictive the longer you smell

- https://www.aedes.com/products/menta-y-menta-eau-de-parfum

Moroccan mint, peppermint, mint tea. The name of the perfume menta y menta is repeated like a captivating mantra reminiscent of the movements of the dervishes turning to infinity. menta y menta is definitively a mixted fragrance. Notes: Moroccan mint, tea leaves, citrus, jasmine and roasted coffee

-https://www.etsy.com/listing/836191387/solanum-tomato-leaf-wild-mint

Tomato Leaf, Wild Mint, Blackberries

River:

Dark water, an abandoned dock, secrets only a body of water can hold

-https://alkemiaperfumes.com/products/st-louis-cemetery-1-perfume-oil-moss-stone-cement-dirt

A BROODING OF SPANISH MOSS, CRUMBLING STONE, OLD CEMENT, RED CLAY BRICK, AND GRAVEYARD DIRT

-https://nuicobaltdesigns.com/products/queen-s-bath?variant=39376179724365

Its scent portrait balances cool floral notes of lotus, pikake, and tuberose with bracing springwater and moss-covered stone. Wear for bright blessings and to facilitate deep meditation.

Lake:

The inviting sound of waves crashing into the shore on an empty beach

-https://juniperridge.com/collections/perfume-cologne/products/redwood-mist-cologne

Fog Drenched Forest, Fresh Rain, Crisp Coastal Air

- https://www.poesieperfume.com/fragrance/full-moon

fragrant white rice, shiso leaf, bitter yuzu zest, hinoki wood, green tea, lakewater

[salixsociety]

The Autumn Palette for the Healer and Seer

On the bounty of the earth in the waning season.

For quite possibly the last year, my spouse and I have driven about six hours North for the fall semester. We will be here, wintering in the city, until the early signs of Alaskan spring begin to show around graduationtime, and then it looks like we will be off to Ireland for a few years, for grad school.

There are many reasons for me to walk with my eyes firmly affixed to the ground: six hours North, much closer to the subarctic, it is already starting to look like autumn, and there is much to look at in the newly soggy soil. The pushki (heracleum maximum) has felt the beating down upon it of rain shower after rain shower, and begun to yellow and die. Fall mushrooms are starting to spring up, and I know that to the Northeast there is the Pass where every mountain is dark with berries right now. I enjoy listening to the earth take a final, heaving sigh, pushing out the very last of the gifts she has for us to gather, before she finally falls asleep, and we must use those riches to make it through her slumber.

Before I moved to Alaska, I harbored quite the secret loathing for autumn. As much as I knew it was objectively beautiful, and I could appreciate that at times, I knew what the reddening of leaves signaled. The Netherlands is a beautiful country, but where it once boasted frigid cold, enough to freeze over major rivers and host ice-skating races from city to city, and beautiful coniferous forest, it is now drab and grey for the most part. Snow and ice are rare occurrences, and often come and go rapidly. The woodlands outside of the national parks have been micromanaged to the point of intense monotony: there's no winter biodiversity to indulge in, no fun fauna to spot. For the most part, the Netherlands in the wintertime is drab, grey, and wet. While I always prided myself on my attempted love for my home region, when my life consisted of a 2.5 hour one-way commute to school, an extremely stressful unpaid internship, and monotonous grey weather, there wasn't much to love. I am not a city-dweller normally, but during the winters I could only find shelter from the landscape screaming 'flee' when I was surrounded by tall and ancient buildings, beauty immovable and immortalized, unaffected by the changing of the seasons. Only now that I have indeed fled, am I learning to love autumn for what it is, for there is much to see, once your eyes open. In my short adult life, spent in Alaska, I have learned much about death and dying, and one of the things I've learned is that a dying breath is not a wasted one. The gods bestowed us with a soul made up of many parts, to make us inspired, wise, and talented beings. One of those many semi-autonomous spirits that make us up is the ǫnd, our breath. But the ǫnd, or andi, is not just breath, literally. The old ones acknowledged the crucial nature of breath in life, and knew that death was the departure of the ǫnd, among others, from our bodies, our lík. Lík means body, but also corpse, depending on context, because the lík is not a person without the ǫnd, the hugr, the hamr, the oth. Andi, or ǫnd, in that way, doesn't just mean breath, but also life, spirit, force. When the earth breathes her dying breath, it is steeped in much symbolism. Her death, temporary and painless, is not for no reason. There is a lesson of rest for perseverance hidden there, and she teaches it to us by giving us a vast array of autumn colors to celebrate before the cold comes.

Last week, in an effort to not become a sedimentary indoor-person as I do my paperwork, I dragged my spouse along to come camping with me. I needed fresh air, my eyes away from a screen for a while. We drove up to one of my favorite places in the world: Hatcher Pass, specifically the side above Fishhook. I have many fond memories there, and many things still to see. We've climbed many of the mountains there and further North, we've made it to mile six of the Mint Glacier trail exactly four times, and never made it any further. There is beauty in everything in that pass. From the magnitude of the mountains and gorges, the deep blue color of the Little Susitna, to the small details like the gold shimmering in the sand of the riverbanks, and the saxifrage (saxifraga oppositifolia) decorating the rock walls in the summertime. Presently, the pass is an orchestra of fall color, and in such a glorious place, it was hard for me to not to revel in the reds and yellows. With blueberry season already over, the crimson of the various streamside berries was my main interest. Red is a very fascinating color in European folklore, and I can't help but give that much thought as I make note of everything bearing fruit next to our campsite: devil's club (oplopanax horridus), highbush cranberry (viburnum edule), lowbush cranberry (vaccinium vitis-idaea), red elder (sambucus racemosa), rowan (sorbus sitchensis). All bright red berries, following the short-lived season of black berries. The idea that the earth would produce so much red, the color of life, blood, celebration and protection, in the last moments before the snow comes, is wonderful to me. That we are bestowed with amanita muscaria right when the veil is thinnest, that we are shown all this life and spirit right before the resting season. What a reminder of the finite nature of it all. This time of cold and struggle will pass.

When we had sufficiently gathered materials and set up our rather luxurious little camp (we recently invested in self-inflating camp mats... life-changing), we waited for nightfall so we could finally start our fire. I'd been waiting for that moment to come, as it was not only quite chilly, but I thought falltide camping was a perfect opportunity to make blót to the gods in thanks for our fruitful summer. In lieu of a real salmon to offer in exchange for our phenomenal salmon run, we had drawn a ton of artsy little salmon on some nice paper instead. A cute offering, and a solid nod to my development as an artist in the last few months. We struggled for about an hour trying to get the fire going, our phenomenal fire-building skills nearly outcompeted by how wet and humid the surroundings were. I proposed just tossing the offering in while keeping the fire alive with our breath, to make sure it'd be burnt. The sausages were not my priority. But, "no, no," said my Dove, clearly determined. "The fire doesn't have a heart yet." And what profound wisdom there is in that single statement. It's true, a fire kept alive with our ǫnd has no life of its own, its smoke contains no ǫnd with which to carry our offering to the gods. It clings desperately to the wood we provided it with, the life we sacrificed to it, and roars briefly when it feels our breath, our spirit, but it cannot come to life and become a spirit of its own until the fire forms a coal bank, becomes completely opaque, and somehow, in the middle of that log cabin fire setup, develops a blindingly bright heart seemingly sustained by nothing. Every fire that roars of its own volition, whether hearth-made or forest-devouring, has a heart and spirit that makes it roar that way. When that empty space between the kindling fills with light, and the fire starts talking in sputters and crackles to be fed, and fed, and fed, and fed, that is when there is spirit, when there is ǫnd with which to bring the blót to the gods. This ancient and elemental spirit is our greatest friend when Ullr mounts the throne of Asgard. When we stack wood in our hearths and by our tents, and plead deliriously at the small flame we've nursed for it, we are begging for that spirit to visit us. To take our offering of wood and torn up newspaper, to hear our voice encouraging it as it tentatively spreads out to the aged logs, and warm our homes so we may make it through the wintertime. Miraculously, as long as we are diligent, it almost always does. It comes when beckoned, and stays until we cease to feed it, like the good guest it is. We are grateful to the fire, and have been for many many years. Creating a living fire is such an ancient success to celebrate, such a human victory, the joy is universal. We understand we have it to thank for our lives many days, as much as it is a cooperative effort between man and flame. We see, if we squint, our home reflected in the fire. Just as it has a heart surrounded by walls of wood, the fire in the hearth is a home's heart. As such, it plays a crucial role in our fall and wintertime endeavours. When the veil is thin, we use fires for divination, and when the weather is frigid, we use it for sacrifice and celebration. When we perpetuate our culture by telling tall tales during the dark hours, we do it gathered around a fire to fuel our imagination. Fire aids us in most of our endeavors, even if we can't see it do so anymore. Fire, as one of the many gifts for us to use during the waning season, is worth using to the fullest.

Something else I never got to experience in Europe is Halloween. There are minor celebrations for it in the west of the Netherlands, where most American culture was imported to, but east in the flatlands, Halloween is merely a passing mention, maybe a movie night with friends. Halloween starts and ends on October 31st, and rapidly makes way for the Saint Martin festivities and then the Saint Nicholas festivities. Halloween proves to be quite the point of light when learning to love Autumn. Of course, I had always had my autumn equinox festivities, and my harvest sacrifices and the alfblót, and I was aware of samhain, but Halloween as a modern cultural phenomenon is truly intoxicating. Or maybe I'm just goth. Seeing reminders everywhere of the thinning veil, and knowing that soon comes the season for communing with elves, for hunkering down for winter, for chopping wood and living life more meditatively, is taking the edge off that monotony and silence I have come to fear so much. Indeed, while what I can perceive with my eyes is not so interesting, what I can see with my second sight is wildly colorful and worth celebrating. We've taken to calling the week leading up to Halloween 'Holy Week' and are crafting a list of activities and movies to entertain ourselves with as Halloween approaches. I'm also working on a lovely Halloween-themed gift for my spouse, which I will not disclose for fear of them reading this, but it will certainly distract from my sense of impending doom. Since the dawn of time, fall and winter are times of love, community, sharing and celebrating. Most Germanic and Scandinavian festivities around this time focus on coming together with loved ones, enjoying the safety of the indoors and the rewards reaped during summer, and toasting to love and togetherness. Being away now from my family, I too can be surrounded by love and safety when it's most cold out.

Beyond food, faeries, fire, family and frith, there is another thing that solidified my faith in myself to feel joy through another winter. Some weeks ago, for the first time in my life, I saw the Northern Lights as I've always wanted to see them. The nightly bifröst visits the Netherlands on occasion, but generally as a red glow shrouded by clouds. My childhood dream had always been to see the teals and greens of them at full power. It happened unexpectedly and unceremoniously. I had just taken off my makeup and gotten ready to wind down for the night, when my spouse's phone rang. Their best friend, telling us that he'd just seen the brightest aurora, right there in the middle of Anchorage. That he'd looked at the forecast and it was crazy, that we needed to go to the mountains this instant. We debated for a moment, but I decided it was worth the odds of failure. We drove all together to the mountain, and we weren't the only ones who'd had that idea. We spent a solid amount of time there, but only saw white wisps, ones that could nearly pass for clouds. The full moon wasn't helping, the car headlights weren't helping. After some time, we drove back down. It wasn't until we walked into a dark alley on campus on the off chance of spotting those tendrils once more that we noticed the aurora picking up. Thankfully my spouse knew a great spot on campus to sprint to, where we could see nearly the entire sky, and sources of artificial light were few. That's where I found out everything I thought I knew about the aurora was a lie. It is truly indescribable. The vibrancy shocked me. The aurora looks very much like ecstasy feels; like the feeling of seeing everything come together, understanding that everything is itself and each other. Witnessing something so divine, so inspired, so incomprehensibly large on a random Saturday in the city... there is nothing better to fill the canvas that is the winter sky, nothing better to serve as a reminder that magic does not die, and all things end. The reds of ecstasy and life, the yellows of perseverance and modesty, the white of death and rebirth, the teal of divine inspiration contrasted against the black of it all will make way for tender greens, for violets, for pinks, for blues, and eventually for reds again. There is nothing to fear in the slumber of winter but my willingness to succumb to misery. There will be joy. There will be auroras to admire. There will be snow to ski on, there will be moose to hunt, there will be fish to lure, there will be ducks to tend to.

The final breath of the planet before she dies to come back to us renewed and plentiful offers me an array of colors to be inspired by. I will look at them with gratitude and love. I will know my home among the reds and browns like I know it among greens and blues. Winter is my time to rest and recuperate, to ponder, to hone my craft, to lie in wait until the first sign of spring comes, for then I can labor again. Until then, I will smell winter on the winds blown over the fresh snowcaps on the mountains, and I will look forward to looking it in the eye and learning from death once more.

[graveyardrabbit]

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three facts for three sunflowers!

the first recorded use of the term “Bigfoot” to refer to the cryptid was in 1958 in Humboldt County, CA. the term was used by loggers to describe an alleged creature leaving large, human-like footprints around the Six Rivers National Forest area (footprints that would later be stated to be hoaxes done by a logger named Ray Wallace, as stated by Ray Wallace’s family)

northern brook lamprey larvae are filter feeders, while the juvenile and adult northern brook lamprey have non-functional digestive tracts, and do not feed after the metamorphosis from larvae to juvenile

the heaviest internal organ of the human body is the liver, which in an adult weighs an average of 3-4 pounds