#sower of the wind

[cienie-isengardu]

Covers for Bramy Jasności [Gates of Light] volume 1 and 2  made by Dark Crayon

[anielska-propaganda]

Zapostowałem anielskiego (Gabriel/Razjel) ficzka, aby choć na chwilę zapomnieć, że zacząłem właśnie studia magisterskie. xdd Dziękuję bardzo @latetotheparty za przypilnowanie mnie, bym nie pisał polglishem.

Aha, fik zainspirowany artem, którego jakimś cudem nigdy tu nie wrzuciłem:

[thelastofthebookworms]

You'll find the other polls in my 'sf polls' tag / my pinned post. I also have a 'fantasy polls' tag and 'fairy tales' tag in my pinned post.

[azotowanie]

if i had a nickle for everytime a black haired and blue eyed angel appeared in media and instantly became my favourite character i would have 2 nickles which is not a lot but it's weird that it happened twice

[zarasu]

Cw depression, Binghe's depression becomes physical

***

The first months Luo Binghe is in the Endless Abyss, he's so busy fighting for his life and trying to stay sane that he wouldn't notice any changes in his body even if they did happen. Then, towards the end of his first year down there, he catches a break.

He is sitting in a cave, peeling his blood- and dirt crusted robes off of his body when he notices it. The scar right over his heart, where Shizun's sword pierced his flesh, is black.

First, he thinks it's dirt and tries to clean it as much as he can.

But it doesn't come off. Instead, as he scrubs the thin barrier of skin over it away, it breaks open and a strange, dark grey goo starts leaking out.

It doesn't look like anything that should come out of his body.

But Luo Binghe's body has changed so drastically over the last few months, has done so many things it isn't supposed to, that he can't muster up any fear for what could just be another demonic peculiarity.

He washes his robes in the green river running through the cave, cleans the grey goo off his chest and pulls his robes back on.

It keeps happening. Sometimes it heals just enough that he can go a few days without any... leakage. Then, he's in a fight and it breaks open again. Sometimes, it just builds up for too long and breaks open anyway.

Sometime during the second year, he finds the emotional capacity to be mildly concerned about it. Besides leaking, it also starts to spread. The black escapes the scar and starts to taint the skin around it in strange shapes, winding and curling like the long vines of a plant.

He begins to suspect that he has been cursed. Or maybe, one of the plants of the abyss has found its way into his skin and is now spreading inside his body. He doesn't know. Even if he did know, what could he do to stop it?

In any case, he doesn't get weaker. He can still fight and still flee and that's the most important part. And, in the privacy of his mind, he admits that sometimes, he kind of likes it. When the grey mud gushes out of his heart and stains his chest, when it runs down his arms and drips off his fingers.

No matter how he badly he gets injured, his body always heals, returning to a perfect, unblemished state.

The black scar and the way it stains him grey is the only thing that makes his outsides match how he's feeling inside.

The truth is, he doesn't try that hard to get rid of it. He gets used to it, even as it spreads further, until his chest is covered with curling black, possessively cradling him like thorny vines. He leaves a trail of grey if he doesn't keep his torso wrapped and clean.

It doesn't stop, even when he gets out of the abyss. The demons he fights and defeats don't dare mention it. Mobei-jun, when Binghe pins him to the ground and declares his victory, looks at his chest and frowns, but he drops the matter when Luo Binghe roughly pushes him away.

Then he's at Huan Hua Palace and, for once, has to truly hide his condition. He keeps his chest wrapped and vanishes now and then to change the bandages and clean up the goo. The drains of Huan Hua are flooded with grey and unbidden, Luo Binghe has to laugh.

He's reminded of women after they birth a child, desperately trying to keep the leakage contained.

Any child he fed this milk to would surely become a monster.

It was appropriate, in a way.

Then he's in Jinlan City, investigating a strange sickness. When he realises it's sowers, he knows he needs to be careful not to let them touch him. Anyone trying to treat him would pull up his long sleeve and be greeted by the sight of black, inhuman vines under his skin.

It's all manageable, all routine, until he turns around and there's Shizun.

Suddenly, he breathes in and, for the first time in a long while, feels something. It's not until the feeling brings a speck of colour with it that he realises his world has become entirely grey.

Shizun is as cold as stone towards him. His face doesn't betray any of his thoughts, he looks at Luo Binghe impassively and quietly while he talks and laughs with others.

Now more than ever, Luo Binghe feels like a child left in the middle of a large, grey sea, abandoned and forced to watch as he is disregarded.

Over the course of a few hours, the black vines creep down his legs. When he is alone in his room, he coughs and a string of grey drips out of his mouth onto the table.

He blankly stares at it for some time.

Then, he goes to confront Shen Qingqiu.

Things escalate quickly and Luo Binghe can't say he's sad about it. Finally, finally, Shen Qingqiu looks at him, shows some emotions other than disinterest on his beloved, hated face.

He chases him through Jinlan City on his sword and corners him in an alley. He knows he's frightening. He doesn't care, even when Shen Qingqiu points his sword at him.

It pierces his hand and Luo Binghe looks down, curious if it'll be blood or grey goo coming out of it.

It's red blood, surprisingly. Now that it's there, he might as well use it.

He pins Shen Qingqiu against a wall and pushes his bloody hand against his mouth, forcing the blood onto his tongue, down his throat.

Turns out his Shizun is only human, after all.

Shen Qingqiu swallows and his eyes dart around in fear. They catch on the front of Luo Binghe's robes and he abruptly stills. Luo Binghe realises that, during the hunt, the scar broke open again and stained his robes grey.

It must be a bemusing sight for Shen Qingqiu. Still, Luo Binghe doesn't expect him to care for long. He's all the more surprised when Shen Qingqiu seems to forget all about fleeing and, instead, gently grabs Binghe's wrist and guides his hand away from his mouth.

He thinks about resisting, at first, but he's becoming a little curious about what Shen Qingqiu is trying to do.

As soon as he can move, Shen Qingqiu is patting over his robes. "What is this," he asks. "Binghe, are you hurt?"

"Now, Shizun cares?" Luo Binghe laughs bitterly, but Shen Qingqiu doesn't seem to hear him. He's too busy parting Luo Binghe's robes.

He lets him. He's tired of hiding.

The black scar is uncovered, and the myriad of black vines spreading all over his body with it. They're all bleeding now, grey liquid flowing down his body in rivulets.

He looks like a broken cup, Luo Binghe thinks. Shattered and leaking everything that was inside.

"What is this," Shen Qingqiu asks, with the most horrified expression Luo Binghe has ever seen from him.

He touches the scar and his hand is immediately stained grey. He pulls it back and stares at it silently.

Luo Binghe wonders if he's disgusted.

Instead, life seems to return to his body and he suddenly grabs Luo Binghe by the shoulders. "Binghe, have you been cursed?"

He moves to touch the scar again and Luo Binghe grasps his wrist to stop him. He stains his wrist further with the touch.

"It's not a curse," he says quietly.

Shen Qingqiu looks up at him helplessly and Luo Binghe has the old, familiar thought that he is beautiful.

"What is happening to you?" he asks.

Luo Binghe is still angry, and hurt, and lost. But, right now, he finds it in himself to answer honestly. "I don't know."

Shen Qingqiu shakes his head. "This isn't supposed to happen."

A laugh escapes him. None of this had been supposed to happen. Luo Binghe feels that his life has stopped being anything like it's supposed to be from the moment he was pushed into the abyss.

But Shen Qingqiu seems more distressed about this, of all things, than anything else that happened.

He grabs Luo Binghe tighter and seems to barely resist shaking him as he insistently says: "Don't worry, Binghe, we will figure this out. We will find a way to help you."

Luo Binghe stares at him silently. Maybe he should feel more about this. He tries, but he just feels cold. He doesn't know if this is real. Shen Qingqiu cast him away so easily. Why would he be concerned now?

Shen Qingqiu seems to finally realise he might as well shake a stone with how little Luo Binghe reacts. He draws back a step, suddenly looks smaller.

"Unless... That is, I know you don't like me right now. Or rather, hate me. That's alright. I promise, you can hate me as much as you want to, but you need to be healthy to do it, alright? Just, let me help you this one time. I might know someone who can help you."

Luo Binghe shakes his head in denial and Shen Qingqiu grows fierce again, his eyebrows drawing together like elegant swords. "Binghe, don't be stubborn now! I swear, you can take your revenge however you want, later, when you're better again. But right now, nothing matters more than this."

He hesitates, looks to the side and back to Luo Binghe's chest. "Please, Binghe, let me help you."

Luo Binghe is standing on an island in the middle of a large, grey sea, and he knows he has been abandoned. There is no one coming to save him, he has been forgotten.

Except now, the one who abandoned him in the first place has come back, is reaching out towards him, is offering his hand to help Luo Binghe off the island.

Luo Binghe is afraid to take that hand. He's afraid to do anything. He doesn't know if he wants to be saved anymore.

But Shen Qingqiu is still looking at him with pleading eyes and Luo Binghe's biggest weakness has always been that he has a soft heart for the people he loves.

He doesn't know if he wants to be saved but, even after everything that happened, he can't bear to disappoint Shizun.

Slowly, slowly, he reaches out and grasps Shen Qingqiu's sleeve.

Shen Qingqiu exhales sharply and pulls him off the island and into his arms.

Luo Binghe takes a breath. The air tastes like spring.

[ju-nebugg]

a complete (and ever-evolving) list of the many titles of mr. henley whispers

because Henry Shields is a genius and all of this deserves to be documented

Henley Whispers

aka the Turbulent Wind

aka the Storm Before the Calm

aka Lithe Spirit

aka Lord of the Prance

aka Bowfingerer

aka the Bark Knight

aka Work Hard Fae Hard

aka Coyote Handsome

aka Tree Weird

aka the Gorse Whisperer

aka the Arrow-ma Therapist

aka Aragorn-al Activity

aka Quiver Phoenix

aka Jack of All Trades, Master of All Trades

aka Tree Willy

aka Dave Fern

aka Soft-Core Faun-ography

aka Forest Whitaker

aka Notorious Tree-IG

aka Mr. Yumnus

aka Ranger Danger

aka Lust of Wind

aka Parry Hotter

aka Pollen Farrell

aka The Wood, The Bard and the Smugly

aka the Longest Bard

aka Daft Skunk

aka Brodo Swaggins

aka Dismay in a Ranger

aka Harriet Shrubman

aka Jeffrey Archer

aka Fen Diagram

aka Look Who’s Tolkien

aka Fennel May Care

aka the Grass Samurai

aka Chloro-Phil Spector

aka Woody Allen

aka Thelonius Trunk

aka the Moss Adjuster

aka See No Weevil

aka the Branch Manager

the ✨ rhymes ✨:

human ranger, damage dealer, story weaver, owl deceiver

human ranger, goblin killer, pale ale swiller, dream journal filler

human ranger, rabble rouser, full of heart, devoid of trouser

human ranger, hidden stranger, friend of danger, dark avenger

human ranger, expert juggler, against the chains which bind us struggler

human ranger, loot stringer, shameless swinger, on da funk bringer

human ranger, check bouncer, espresso mispronouncer 

human ranger, rule flouter, truth spouter, earthworm doubter

human ranger, poker player, that which others won’t say sayer

human ranger, trendsetter, otter petter, in-joke getter

human ranger, blame dodger, advertising for a lodger

human ranger, cheeky chancer, always-on-the-off-beat dancer

human ranger, truth spinner, under-7s judo winner

human ranger, time waster, different brands of water taster

human ranger, hog roaster, subtle boaster, party ghoster 

human ranger, crystal healer, your-layers-like-an-onion peeler

human ranger, hell raiser, into-the-abyss gazer

human ranger, lithe linguist, sensual astrologist

human ranger, bugbear wrestler, established-societal-norm questioner

human ranger, tune hummer, every-known-fear overcomer

human ranger, knowledge gleaner, has the grass that’s always greener

human ranger, deer consumer, vole beguiler, badger groomer

human ranger, havoc wreaker, noted after dinner speaker

human ranger, cattle roper, inter-species interloper

human ranger, prey pouncer, fearless fighter, local counselor

deer stalker, fox glover, the one you’re with lover

black run skier, caged bird freer, the-change-you-want-to-see-in-the-world be-er

human ranger, eldritch blaster, surreptitious podcaster

human ranger, villain injurer, power broker, serial milliner

human ranger, wild reaver, what-a-tangled-web-we-weaver

human ranger, seed sower, flower goer, the-distance goer

human ranger, head turner, butter churner, bridge burner

human ranger, shameless liar, rule defier, hair dyer

human ranger, misbehav-er, always-against-the-grain shaver

human ranger, beast enrager, strong orator, up-upstager

human ranger, owlbear slayer, soothsayer, the-field player

human ranger, quick-quip punner, villain stunner, long-con runner

human ranger, heedless cur, own-job-interview saboteur

human ranger, of-wind guster, no-one truster, goat buster

human ranger, slightly odd, wistful, winsome beetle god

human ranger, well-worn traveler, yarn spinner, peascods gatherer

TRUE FACTS ABOUT HENLEY:

he believes that any bird singing in the forest is doing it specifically for him (and birds don’t sing when he’s not there)

he trims his pubic hair into the word “shazam”

he keeps a dream journal (but if he has a nightmare, he ignores it and makes up something nice)

he writes really bad poetry (short, broken sentences, “rupi kaur style”)

he’s been using Ghoul’s Gruel as anti-aging cream (it doesn’t work)

his spirit animal is himself

he pronounces espresso like “ethpretho”

he has a bad feeling about worms in general

he howls at the moon

he pretends to understand all inside jokes

he’s very concerned about the mortgage repayments on his house

he always dances on the off beat in order to stand out in the club

he’s the reigning champion of the under-7s judo competition in his local area

he can tell the difference between brands of water (and he has very strong opinions about them)

he leaves parties without telling people and then comes back in disguise to talk about the fact that he left

he uses healing crystals

he gazes into the abyss until it gazes back because he wants the attention

he uses “sensual astrology” to try and seduce people

he has every known fear (the exposure therapy backfired)

he shaves (against the grain) with a sword (your hair doesn’t grow in hell. he does it anyway.)

he always has the greenest grass (he steals any grass he sees that’s greener than his own)

he runs a grooming business for badgers (“what does he get in return from the badgers?” “…friends”)

he’s an accomplished after-dinner speaker

he tried to hibernate with badgers and they kicked him out

he majored in drawing in sand with sticks

he’s a bed wetter

he always bets all in when playing poker

he is a leading member of the “pithy council” (it’s just him and a ferret getting together to recite pithy sayings)

he will love the one YOU’RE with (aka sleep with your wife)

when someone asks him a difficult question, he turns and runs

he thinks he’s been leaving episodes of a podcast called “whispers on the air” in various rocks and twigs on their journey, but he doesn’t have the spell for it so he’s just been talking to inanimate objects

he has an unhealthy obsession with hats

he sleeps in a web

he invented a kind of long distance running called long distance fleeing (26 miles = safety)

he burns every bridge he crosses

henley (a natural blonde) dyes his hair blonde (his natural hair color) so people will think he has grays because he’s older and more mature than he really is

he must always be upstaging someone

he has an inexplicable hatred of goats and, similarly, an inexplicable love of sea turtles

he has been acting as the god for a family of beetles (he can give you seed)

[fallingtowers]

on the planet of serpent cults, where heat lightning always flickers on the far horizon, the queen of swords roams.

a thief, a reaver, a slayer: she is all these things and more. she embraces danger like a lover, and makes a fool of fate. she knows the five secret ways into the cursed temple, where one false move means death. she does battle with skeleton warriors while the stormclouds gather and the rising wind whips the tresses of her hair, which is black as grief or bright as gold—whatever works best for you.

1929, 1932, 1939—the year of publication is irrelevant; the queen of swords is always in her prime, and never grows old or infirm. if she dies, she will die by the sword, and that will never happen as long as she has an audience, and on the planet of jungles and ziggurats the golden age of pulps never ends. she is often wounded, but there is always a hut with dried herbs hanging from the rafters and a kindhearted peasant daughter to nurse her back to health, until the wound is just another scar.

she has so many scars.

she wears a bikini of bronze scales, which is the expected outfit for a woman in her line of work, but she would have worn it even if it wasn't, because she enjoys showing off. her body is muscular and sword-marked. her girlbulge is considerable. her pupils are dilated and her teeth stained red from chewing a root she got in the silver city, where every building is a generations-old repurposed spacecraft, and all the inhabitants are telepathic, and drugs grow freely in every garden. the root improves her reflexes as well as having an aphrodisiac effect, which is a useful combination on the planet of tombs and warlords, where lascivious sorceresses lurk behind every corner.

(when she was just a boy, her entire village was put to the sword. now she scatters deathblows the way a sower scatters seeds, and plumes of blood sprout in her wake. there is nothing wrong or unhealthy about this. it's the natural order of things, on the planet of conquest and savagery.)

the queen of swords, who dances on the razor's edge, who flouts the laws of men and gods! the horse she rides is always rearing; she is always backlit by lightning; her cloak snaps in the boreal gale. vallejo, frazetta, norem—everyone who is anyone has painted her. her name is whispered in the city of knives, where thieves hide in every cellar and hounds of bone and black smoke stalk the roofs, and in the city of sails, and in the city of broken idols. they speak of her even in the city of jeweled thrones, the greatest of all the cities of men, where sleep martyrs take stimulants that keep them awake until it kills them, and sarong-clad princesses burn for her touch.

though she has visited a thousand cities, she has no home. though she has taken a thousand lovers, she has never married. she lies awake late into the night, turning her melancholies this way and that like puzzle boxes.

on the planet of dust storms and pterosaurs, where every swamp teems with lizard-men and eight-foot-tall arthropodal reavers from beyond the stars descend in dropships made of steel and crystallized honeydew, there is always another adventure. but afterwards, in the silence after the clash of steel, she leaves empty-handed. the jewels slip between her fingers, and when her latest woman asks her to stay, of course she cannot accept. there is always another adventure, another forgotten dungeon or distant beckoning city, and as long as she has an audience, the queen of swords must roam.

yes, hers is a lonely life, but look, look: as she trudges through the violet sands of the southern wastes, drops of rain begin to fall, fat and blood-warm, stirring the hot dust—and the desert blooms around her.

[queer-reader-07]

I'll help you procrastinate!

What were your favorite books as a child, and what are your favorite books now?

Also, I need book recs. Preferably fantasy or sci-fi, but I'm not opposed to other genres.

you, my friend, have no idea what you've just gotten yourself into

my favorite childhood books were definitely the Magic Treehouse books and Percy Jackson! (although i'm still a huge Rick Riordan fan to this day)

i say my number one spot is tied between The Feeling of Falling in Love by Mason Deaver (a truly beautiful YA t4t romcom that i WILL peddle until my dying breath). and Dune by Frank Herbert! (the duality of man, if you will). i've written many a long winded pieces on Dune but if you haven't read it already go do that <3

i also read a lot more nonfiction nowadays, usually feminist & liberationist literature & memoir! (and ofc my fair share of romcoms and occasional litfic... as i say this i'm realizing that aside from horror i kind of read it all 😅)

SFF book recs!! (i'll throw in some other genres at the end if you do decide to branch out 👀)

i am a HUGE Octavia Butler fan so i'm going to recommend Dawn & The Parable of the Sower

Dawn is the first in the Xenogenesis/Lilith's Brood series (and i will admit that i have yet to read the sequels, don't come for me i'm ass at finishing series). I love this novel for how it discusses what it means to be human through explorations of race and gender in the wake of an apocalyptic event. I'd also class this novel under "it's about hope if you pay attention enough" which is a huge thing for me

The Parable of the Sower is part of a duology (which i have finished!) although was meant to be a longer series, unfortunately Butler passed before finishing it. this is the book that had me going "this woman is a profit" because of how much the events of the novel remind me of the modern day. set in the 2020s in the wake of climate and economic collapse, we follow Lauren, a teenager with hyper empathy (a condition she has due to her mom's drug use during pregnancy) as she not only works to survive in a crumbling society but also build a new future for humanity. this is another story that i believe is at its core about hope, but that specific kind of hope that can only exist because of the despair one has experienced. a hope borne out of a refusal to accept destruction as the only way forward. a hope borne out of a love for humanity.

A Psalm for the Wild Built by Becky Chambers!!! this is a soft, quiet, tender story about a robot who just wants to learn what humans need. and this robot starts to learn that when it encounters a monk who just wants to be in the wilderness alone to find their true calling in life.

Babel by RF Kuang is one of those books that i will fully admit is a tad bit condescending to the reader but nonetheless i find it a great and engaging place to start when it comes to literature that explores the violent ramifications of colonialism. like yes it overexplains things that i think could've been left to subtext, but i will also point to it before i point to academia, ya know?

The Ninth Rain by Jen Williams follows a main character who is like if Indiana Jones was a Black lesbian in a fantasy world and better. i call this one "not necessarily adventure gone wrong but rather adventure became far larger and graver than you could have ever imagined." empires on the brink of collapse, a species of creatures people don't quite understand are about to return, and the ninth rain is imminent. (also part of a series i have yet to finish, im sorry!!)

Masters of Death by Olivie Blake. this one has NG vibes but is written by a markedly better person!! the godson of Death, a vampire real estate agent trying to sell a house and a ghost haunting said house (he's quite the pain in the ass if you ask her), and some really high stakes games involving the literal gods; what could possibly go wrong? (specifically recommending the audiobook for this one, it was phenomenal!) (this one is also very gay!!)

ok now i'm gonna throw some non sff at you to try to get you out of your comfort zone :)

On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong is a heartwrenching memoir-esque narrative of a queer boy writing to his mother in a language he knows she cannot read. it tells the story of what it's like to be an immigrant and the child of one, of what it means to be queer in a culture that doesn't accept you. it is, at its core, a story about the urgency of survival and the anguish of love that explores how we find joy in this broken mess of a world. (i read this one in a Gender in Lit and Film class i took my freshman year of highschool for a unit on masculinity and it has 100% shaped how i view and interact with masculinity especially in regards to race)

in a similar vein but not quite i'll also recommend Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin. written in the 50s, this is a heartbreaking story to two queer men falling passionately in love only for it all to be ripped apart. i've recommended this book before alongside the lyrics to Good Luck Babe! by Chappell Roan. "you can kiss a hundred boys in bars // shoot another shot just to stop the feeling // you'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling"

The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett is a novel i read right around when it came out back in 2020 and i really ought to revisit. it is, in my opinion, one of the best fictional explorations of what it means to be a mixed race person in the US. Bennett explores race in the United States through two twin sisters, both biracial, one who lives her life in the town they grew up in as a Black woman and the other out west as a White woman. told throughout generations their lives become more and more intertwined (were they ever really separate?).

probably my favorite memoir of all time is A Mind Spread Out on the Ground by Alicia Elliot which explores race, gender, colonization, and more through the lens of Elliot's experience as a mixed race, First Nations Indigenous woman. the title comes from the Mohawk phrase for depression and it is with the same urgency and feeling that that phrase evokes that Elliot writes all her essays with. I particularly think of her essay titled "Half Breed: A Racial Biography in Five Parts" because its exploration of the grief only felt by being mixed or having mixed children is deeply personal to me. however, all her essays have so much depth and emotion to offer.

i'm not sure if romance novels or YA contemporary are your thing but if you're interested shoot me another ask about those, didn't include them here since those are more "you like em or you don't" imo

ok that's all for now thank you for providing me this distraction and giving me a chance to go full special interest on you <33

[catgirlforeskin]

Looks like some sowers of wind are gonna reap a whirlwind today

[cienie-isengardu]

Lucyfer z Siewcy Wiatru // Lucifer from Sower of the Wind

[anielska-propaganda]

już mi raz zrzucili, próbujemy dalej (jeśli ktoś chce bez cenzury to let me know a podeślę!)

[pamphletstoinspire]

Commentary on the Holy Gospel of Jesus Christ according to St. Mark – Chapter 4

St. Mark, the disciple and interpreter of St. Peter (as noted by St. Jerome.) according to what he heard from St. Peter himself, wrote at Rome a brief Gospel at the request of the Brethren (fellow Christians), about ten years after our Lord's Ascension; which when St. Peter had heard, he approved of it, and with his authority he published it to the Church to be read. Baronius and others maintain, that the original was written in Latin: but the more general opinion is that the Evangelist wrote it in Greek.

First, Christ tells parables: first, about the sower; second (v. 21), about the lamp placed upon the lampstand; third (v. 26), about the seed; fourth (v. 31), about the mustard seed. Second (v. 37), while He is sleeping a storm arises at sea; awakened by His disciples, He commands the winds and the sea and calms the storm.

And again he began to teach by the sea side; and a great multitude was gathered together unto him, so that he went up into a ship, and sat in the sea; and all the multitude was upon the land by the sea side. 2 And he taught them many things in parables, and said unto them in his doctrine: 3 Hear ye: Behold, the sower went out to sow. 4 And whilst he sowed, some fell by the way side, and the birds of the air came and ate it up. 5 And other some fell upon stony ground, where it had not much earth; and it shot up immediately, because it had no depth of earth. 6 And when the sun was risen, it was scorched; and because it had no root, it withered away. 7 And some fell among thorns; and the thorns grew up, and choked it, and it yielded no fruit. 8 And some fell upon good ground; and brought forth fruit that grew up, and increased and yielded, one thirty, another sixty, and another a hundred. 9 And he said: He that hath ears to hear, let him hear. 10 And when he was alone, the twelve that were with him asked him the parable. 11 And he said to them: To you it is given to know the mystery of the kingdom of God: but to them that are without, all things are done in parables: 12 That seeing they may see, and not perceive; and hearing they may hear, and not understand: lest at any time they should be converted, and their sins should be forgiven them. 13 And he saith to them: Are you ignorant of this parable? And how shall you know all parables? 14 He that soweth, soweth the word. 15 And these are they by the way side, where the word is sown, and as soon as they have heard, immediately Satan cometh and taketh away the word that was sown in their hearts. 16 And these likewise are they that are sown on the stony ground: who when they have heard the word, immediately receive it with joy. 17 And they have no root in themselves, but are only for a time: and then when tribulation and persecution ariseth for the word they are presently scandalized. 18 And others there are who are sown among thorns: these are they that hear the word, 19 And the cares of the world, and the deceitfulness of riches, and the lusts after other things entering in choke the word, and it is made fruitless. 20 And these are they who are sown upon the good ground, who hear the word, and receive it, and yield fruit, the one thirty, another sixty, and another a hundred. 21 And he said to them: Doth a candle come in to be put under a bushel, or under a bed? And not to be set on a candlestick? 22 For there is nothing hid, which shall not be made manifest: neither was it made secret, but that it may come abroad. 23 If any man have ears to hear, let him hear. 24 And he said to them: Take heed what you hear. In what measure you shall mete, it shall be measured to you again, and more shall be given to you.

25 For he that hath, to him shall be given: and he that hath not, that also which he hath shall be taken away from him. 26 And he said: So is the kingdom of God, as if a man should cast seed into the earth, 27 And should sleep, and rise, night and day, and the seed should spring, and grow up whilst he knoweth not. 28 For the earth of itself bringeth forth fruit, first the blade, then the ear, afterwards the full corn in the ear. 29 And when the fruit is brought forth, immediately he putteth in the sickle, because the harvest is come. 30 And he said: To what shall we liken the kingdom of God? Or to what parable shall we compare it? 31 It is as a grain of mustard seed: which when it is sown in the earth, is less than all the seeds that are in the earth: 32 And when it is sown, it groweth up, and becometh greater than all herbs, and shooteth out great branches, so that the birds of the air may dwell under the shadow thereof. 33 And with many such parables, he spoke to them the word, according as they were able to hear. 34 And without parable he did not speak unto them; but apart, he explained all things to his disciples. 35 And he saith to them that day, when evening was come: Let us pass over to the other side. 36 And sending away the multitude, they take him even as he was in the ship: and there were other ships with him. 37 And there arose a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the ship, so that the ship was filled. 38 And he was in the hinder part of the ship, sleeping upon a pillow; and they awake him, and say to him: Master, doth it not concern thee that we perish? 39 And rising up, he rebuked the wind, and said to the sea: Peace, be still. And the wind ceased: and there was made a great calm. 40 And he said to them: Why are you fearful? Have you not faith yet? And they feared exceedingly: and they said one to another: Who is this (thinkest thou) that both wind and sea obey him?

Commentary: Saint Mark - Chapter 4

Verse 10. And when he was alone. In Greek καταµόνας, the Vulgate, singularis, i.e., “solitary, by Himself”. The Arabic translates it “alone, away from the crowd”; Syriac, “when He was alone.” Thus the idea of alone and “separated from others” is expressed in Latin by the word singulus, derived from sine angulo, “without angle,” because things that are solitary and alone cannot constitute an angle. From the word singulus then comes singularis, meaning solitary and alone. Hence Cicero says (Academ. quaest. lib. 4), “I omit Aristotle, who in philosophy is almost singular [without peer].” Compare Cæsar(lib. 4 de Bello Gallico): “When they saw individuals [singulares] coming (alone) off the boat, they attacked those who were hindered by baggage on horses at full gallop.” Hence, too, the psalm verse, For thou, O Lord, singularly hast settled me in hope (Ps. 4:10).

The twelve that were with him (Jesus) asked him. The Greek, Syriac and Arabic have “with the “twelve,” meaning that the seventy disciples, who, with the twelve Apostles, were followers of Jesus, asked Him what was the meaning of the parable of the sower and the seed. Thus Euthymius.

Verse 21. Doth a candle come in (i.e., is it brought into a house or a room), to be put under a bushel or under a bed? That it should be hidden under a vessel? No! but that it should be set out in public, and give light to all. By this parable Christ signified that it was not His will that the mysteries of this parable and the other doctrines of the gospel should be concealed and hidden, but rather that His disciples should unfold them at the proper time, and communicate them to others who at that time were not yet able to receive them. It was His will that they should not keep them secret, but rather publish and preach them openly. Thus S. Jerome, S. Bede, and others, and this is plain from what follows.

Verse 22. For there is nothing hid, which shall not be made manifest (Latin,manifestetur, a categorical use of the subjunctive): neither was it made secret, but that it may come abroad. This is the Greek and Latin reading. “Although the doctrine of the gospel and My deeds and words are as yet hidden and secret, I do not wish them always to remain so. At the opportune time they must be openly proclaimed by you, O My disciples, and presented and preached to all.” So SS. Jerome and Bede. This is what Christ says in Matthew 10:27, That which I tell you in the dark, speak ye in the light: and that which you hear in the ear, preach ye upon the housetops.

Verse 24. And he said to them: take heed what you hear. The meaning, says Euthymius, is, “Attend to the things which ye hear of Me, that ye may understand them, and commit them to memory, that when the proper time shall arrive ye may put them into practice and communicate them to others.” And He gives the reason: “That none of My words may escape you,” says Theophylact. Hear Bede, “He teaches us carefully to hear His words, in such manner that we should carefully digest them in our hearts, and be able to bring them forth for the hearing of others.”

In what measure you shall mete, it shall be measured to you again, and more shall be given to you. Meaning: If you widely and abundantly communicate and preach My doctrine to others, I also will abundantly impart to you far more understanding and greater wisdom, grace and glory, as a recompense and reward to you. Thus fountains, the more they pour out above, the more they receive from below.” Therefore, let teachers, catechists, preachers, etc. learn from this saying and promise of Christ, that the more pains they bestow in teaching others, the more grace and wisdom they will receive from Christ themselves, according to the words, He who soweth sparingly shall also reap sparingly: and he who soweth in blessings, i.e., bountifully, shall also reap in blessings (2 Cor. 9:6). (See commentary.)

Verse 25. For he that hath, to him shall be given: and he that hath not, that also which he hath shall be taken away from him. Hath, that is, “uses,” and shows that he hath by using. For such a one hath indeed, but he who useth not a gift or grace hath it but in name only. This is what theologians say, that he who uses his grace hath it in a second act; but he who uses it not hath it only in the first act, that is, in power and possession. (See commentary on Matth. 13:12 and Matth. 25:29.) The meaning, therefore, is, to him who uses learning given him by God, by study or by imparting it to others, an increase of learning shall be given; but from him who uses not his learning, shall God take it away, as something idle and useless. For Christ here is urging the Apostles to preach the gospel diligently and fervently, promising them, if they do so, a greater influx of His wisdom and grace.

Verse 26. And he said, So is the kingdom of God, as if a man should cast seed into the earth. This is another parable, different from that of the sower, which precedes it (v. 3). Both, however, are derived from seed, but differently applied and explained. Moreover, by the seed, as S. Chrysostom, S. Bede and the Scholiast in Jerome’s works rightly explain, both here and in chapter 13 of Matthew, is signified evangelical doctrine; by the field, hearers; by the harvest is meant the end of the world or each one’s death.

Verse 27. And should sleep (that is to say, the man who sowed), and rise, night and day, and the seed should spring, and grow up whilst he knoweth not. Some refer the words rise night and day to the seed, so that Christ, by way of explanation, would go on to say and (they understand the word and here to be διηγητικὸν [having a narrative sense], explaining what went before; they think that it can be taken to mean “that is”), the seed should spring, and grow up whilst he knoweth not, “he,” meaning the sleeping man.

According to this reading, the seed cast upon the ground by the farmer sprouts and grows continuously, night and day, and even while the farmer is not thinking about it, but is resting and sleeping. Thus Bede, the Scholiast in S. Jerome and the Gloss.

More obviously, S. Chrysostom, Theophylact, Euthymius, Maldonatus, Franz Lucas, and others refer the words, rise, night and day, to the sower, and not to the seed, so that night pertains to the word sleep, day to the word rise. According to this interpretation: As the farmer who has sowed is sleeping idly in the night and, having risen, is employed in various occupations during the day, and thinks not about the seed and the field, nevertheless that seed is germinating by its own innate force, and is growing up whilst the husbandman knoweth it not. So also it puts forth first the blade, then the ear, and then the full corn in the ear. So it is likewise with the doctrine and preaching of the gospel. They were sown by Christ and His Apostles, that is, they were preached from small beginnings. But continuously, by degrees, they grew insensibly into the mature and mighty harvests of the faithful, while Christ was, as it were, unaware and sleeping in heaven, in that He permits the Jews and unbelieving nations and tyrants to rise up against His Apostles and the gospel, and persecute and kill them. It increases, I say, and propagates itself gradually, until it fills the world, when, the harvest being ripe, the corn, that is, the elect, shall be gathered into the granary of heaven, which shall take place at the end of the world on the day of judgment.

By this parable, then, is signified the power of the gospel, which by degrees has pervaded the whole world, and is converting it to itself and to Christ. Tacitly, also, it signifies that apostles and preachers of the gospel must not glory in their preaching, as though they were converting the world by it. For, as the Apostle saith, “Neither he that planteth is anything, nor he that watereth, but God that giveth the increase (1 Cor. 3:7). On the other hand, Christ intimates that preachers ought not to be downcast if they see small and tardy fruits of their preaching, because God will, by the few converted by them, gradually convert many more. So S. James, by means of seven, or, as some say, by nine, whom he converted to Christianity in Spain, converted the whole country.

Verse 28. For the earth of itself bringeth forth fruit; first the blade, then the ear, afterward the full corn in the ear. Arabic, Because the earth alone bringeth forth fruit, first the blade, and after that the ear; then the ear is filled, and when the fruit is perfect, then the sickle is applied, because it is harvest.” So likewise, by the preaching of the gospel, the Faith of Christ and His Church grew by various degrees of increase—grew, I say, both in virtues and also in its propagation throughout all regions.

Morally, expositors adapt these three expressions, blade, ear, full corn, to a three-fold increment of virtues and merits. For the earth of our heart germinates, firstly, the blade, when it conceives and begins good desires and good works within it; secondly, the ear, when it proceeds to earnest working; thirdly, the grain, when it brings its works and virtues and merits to full maturity and perfection. Thus Theophylact says, “The blade is the beginning of good; the ear is when we resist temptations; the fruit is perfect work.”

Listen to S. Gregory (hom. 15 in Ezech. and lib. 22 Moral. cap. 14), “To produce the blade is to hold the first tender beginning of good. The blade develops an ear when virtue conceived in the mind leads to proficiency in good works. The full corn fructifies in the ear when virtue becomes so proficient that it is capable of strong and perfect work.” Therefore, it is not enough for salvation, says Victor of Antioch, that we “put forth leaves by obedience, but [we must] also learn a manly fortitude and, like the stalks of corn, remain upright without minding the winds which blow us about. We must also take heed to our soul by a diligent recollection, that, like the ears, we may bear fruit, that is, show forth the perfect operation of virtue.” Christ here intimates that the Apostles, and those who work for the conversion of souls, ought to await with long-suffering the fruit and harvest of their labors, as farmers do. They ought to cherish those who are tender in the faith, and gradually lead them on to the height of virtue by teaching, admonishing and exercising them. “Let no one, therefore,” says Bede, “who is regarded as being of good purpose in the tenderness of his mind, be despised, because the fruit takes its rise from the blade, and becomes corn. Symbolically, the Scholiast in S. Chrysostom says, “The blade was in the law of nature, the ear in the law of Moses, the fruit in the gospel.”

Verse 29. And when the fruit is brought forth, immediately he putteth in the sickle. In Greek ὅταν δὲ παραδῷ ὁ καρπὸς, that is, “when indeed the fruit has brought itself forth” or when the fruit shall be produced; for fruit is here in the nominative case. Hence some translate, “when the fruit shall have come forth.” Euthymius: “when it has matured.” The Syriac has, “when it has become fat”; Arabic, “when it is perfect.” This is a Hebraism, for in Hebrew, verbs in the conjugation Hitpael have a passive meaning, or a reflex action, by which the agent receives the action in himself, so that the agent is the same as the recipient of the action. Hence some codices read, “when the fruit has produced itself.” Maldonatus explains it differently, “When the fruit, that is, the seed itself, which was the fruit of former seed, shall have brought forth, that is to say, other seed from itself.”

Verse 33. And with many such parables He spoke to them the word, according as they were able to hear. That is, insofar as they were worthy to hear, as Maldonatus says, citing Bede, Euthymius and Clement of Alexandria (lib. 1 Strom.). According to this reading, Christ spoke clearly, without parables, to the Apostles, who wanted to understand and believe, so that they might understand more and more; but to the scribes and the Jews who did not want to believe and understand, He spoke somewhat obscurely and parabolically, so that, even if they wanted, they nevertheless could not understand. More simply and plainly, Theophylact and Franz Lucas (in loco), as well as S. Chrysostom (in Matth. hom. 45) explain that Christ spoke with such, i.e., common and easy parables, which all could understand, not with abstruse examples unknown to the crowd; so that they might take in their substance, and perceive that there was something heavenly and divine lying beneath the surface, although they did not comprehend each particular. Nevertheless, by what was known of the parable they were inspired and encouraged by Christ to investigate and search out the unknown thing that lay hidden beneath it.

Verse 36. Even as he was in the ship. Meaning: The disciples took up Christ upon the deep sea, that they might cross over it with Him; Christ, I say, as He was in the ship, namely, sitting and teaching the people standing on the shore. This is plain from verse 1, for afterward (v. 38) it appears that He changed His position, sleeping in the ship. It marks the ready obedience of the disciples, and in turn Christ’s easy accommodation of Himself to their promptitude, so as to avoid the tumult of the thronging multitude. Franz Lucas interprets somewhat differently: Even as he was in the ship, he says, means “before anyone got off the ship where He was.” Hence the Syriac translates “when he was in the ship,” and the Arabic, “they took him aboard the ship.”

And there were other ships with him. It happened by the counsel of God that the many persons who were carried in those ships should be spectators and witnesses of the miracle very shortly to be wrought by Christ, namely, the calming of the tempest.

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[endlessnightlock]

Has anyone else sent in 6 “pearl” for the numbers thing?

Thank you, anon. For some reason, this is the direction my imagination went with the word "pearl."

When I was a little boy, long before it was commonly known that sometimes the wolves in sheep’s clothing were, in fact, hiding behind the Good Shepherd, my mom and dad got on a religious kick. This meant that after weeks of persistent visits, it was decided that my brothers and I would ride the church bus to The Son's Glory Congregation with Ms. Trinkett, keeping us in line and Mr. Abernathy behind the wheel while they slept in till noon. Free babysitting with a dose of the Good Book learning for added measure.

For three solid years, my brothers and I rode the church bus down Panem County's winding back roads each and every Sunday morning, save a few weekends in January or February, the worst months of the year around our parts, when the church bus would have just as soon slid clear off the mountainside with one ill-timed tap of the brakes.

Don't get me wrong. The congregation of The Son's Glory Congregation were fine people. Kind, want to fuss over us bus kids, sure to bring lots of treats to the monthly potlucks we stayed for after morning services. Even Pastor Boggs, while a little wild-eyed preaching his hell-fire and damnation services, was an alright guy away from the pulpit. Most of the messages went over my head, but some stuck. The parables Jesus told in the New Testament. The sower. The prodigal son.

The pearl of great price. The story of a man who discovered an invaluable pearl buried in a field. He gave up everything he had to make that pearl his, to love and cherish it.

On those church bus rides, I found a fiery little daughter of a coal miner who wore her hair in two long braids and sang in services with a voice that left every old timer near to crying. A girl who somehow thought I was worth sacrificing for. I haven't set foot in The Son's Glory Congregation for years and years now, but I did find my pearl of great value and she's enough for me.

[ironwhumper359]

Whumper prompt 3, have fun~

The Tenets of Growth: Pt. 1

The Path of Cultivation

CW: submission, allusions to torture, religious themes, religion used to justify torture, whumpee turned whumper, stress position

Word count: 1500~

---

“So, what did we learn yesterday?”

Aster considered the question carefully as she knelt at her Cultivator's feet. She’d learned long ago, when she was merely a Seed, not to speak a single word without considering whether or not it could be misconstrued by the harsh woman as too stupid, too clever, or too disrespectful in general.

"We learned that life...does not flourish without decay. That the rot and filth that surrounds us need not kill us, but can enrich our surroundings and make us stronger. But if we succumb and become a part of it, rather than use it as fuel, that is when we cease to grow and begin to wilt."

Aster desperately wanted to sneak a glance up at the Cultivator's face, to gauge her reaction to her words, but she kept her eyes fixed on the ground, hands clasped behind her back and her head bowed low.

"Then you have learned well," the Cultivator said, and relief and pride flooded through Aster in equal measure. "Rise, and accompany me. There is something you must see."

Aster obediently got to her feet, hands still folded behind her and head down as she walked, but her breath came a little easier after the words of praise. She walked through the Nursery's winding corridors without truly seeing her surroundings, placing her full trust in the Cultivator to lead them on the right path. As was true in all practices at the Nursery, this was to remind her of humanity's dependence on the Goddess Perivyta for all things, but Aster longed for the day she would finally Flower and begin to learn the layout of the halls for herself.

Finally, they stopped in front of a door, and the Cultivator pulled a key from somewhere inside her robe. Unlocking the door, she stepped back to allow Aster to enter the room first. As was customary, Aster stepped inside and immediately knelt at one side of the door.

"Her Ladyship Lantana, Third Cultivator of the Durtham Nursery enters," Aster announced, and the Cultivator swept into the room. Aster rose long enough to close the door behind her, but before she could kneel again, the Cultivator grabbed her by the arm.

"Hold," she said simply, and Aster froze. "You are very close to your Flowering, Initiate Aster," the Cultivator continued. "And in spite of your early difficulties Sprouting, my fellow Cultivators and I have taken note of your growth."

Aster bowed her head.

"I am grateful that your ladyship saw the weeds at work in my heart and Pruned them in time to allow me to flourish," she intoned.

"Your growth is my growth," the Cultivator replied lightly. "Lift your head, Initiate, and observe the room."

Aster did so, and a wave of nausea rolled over her. They were in a small cell, sunlight from a single barred window shining into the room and illuminating a large patch of rough, exposed earth in the middle of the stone floor. A long shadow was cast by a single metal loop bolted to the floor, and Aster could feel her heart beating faster in her chest at the mere sight of it.

"You may speak, Initiate," the Cultivator said, and Aster swallowed.

"Your ladyship, I...I thought you said that my growth was sufficient?"

"Did I also not say that you are nearing the time of your Flowering?" the Cultivator asked, and Aster nodded quickly. "I have meditated upon the will of Perivyta on where to assign you for specialty study, and it has been laid upon my heart that you are to walk the Path of Cultivation."

It took every ounce of Aster's meticulously crafted self control to keep her mouth from falling open. The Path of Cultivation? Her? Aster had only heard whispered rumors of what the path for initiates was like, but everyone knew that to be a Cultivator was the highest honor in the order. Everyone else, not just the initiates, but the Sowers, Tenders, and even Pruners had to answer to the Cultivators.

"I have spoken with the other Cultivators, and they have agreed," Lady Lantana continued. "However, the Path of Cultivation is unlike the other paths of the order. Training is only given to one initiate at a time, and only when the circumstances are right."

Aster nodded absently, their mind spinning with a dozen questions. Why was only one initiate trained at once? What circumstances? What was even the difference between the Path of Cultivation and the Path of Sowing, shouldn't it basically be the same information? Why was she the one chosen, out of the dozen or so Budded initiates who were nearing their Flowering?

"Praise Perivyta for her goodness, for she has provided us an opportunity," the Cultivator said. "This morning, the city courts delivered a guilty verdict to a notorious thief that plagued the streets for months before he was finally caught. He is being transferred here tomorrow, and the First Cultivator has agreed that you, Initiate, shall undertake his Cultivation."

"I...I am honored, my lady," Aster stammered. "But...forgive me, I just...would expect such an important task to be carried out by one with more experience."

Or any experience, she thought, but did not say.

"The Path of Cultivation is not one to be walked lightly," said the Cultivator. "It is one thing to plant a flower in a bed. It is quite another to coax fruit from a tree that has been set upon by rot. Initiates purposely are trained with initiates sent to us by tribute or sentencing, so that in the future they will have the skills necessary to deal with any difficulties in their future plots."

Aster swallowed, then nodded.

"I understand, my lady. What are to be my first steps?"

"Tomorrow, you will start your studies, beginning with the performance of Ritual Re-Planting. But first, you must demonstrate your readiness to walk this path. This cell is to be the site of your study, and must be consecrated. Assume your meditative position."

Aster turned around, and for a moment caught a glimpse of the Cultivator's sharp face before bowing her head again. The expression was unreadable, and Aster forced herself not to squirm as she knelt on the patch of dirt.

She brought her arms out from behind her, clasping her hands over her heart and curling low to the ground. She pressed her forehead to the earth and counted silently to three before straightening again, resting her head on her still clasped hands.

"Thanks be Perivyta, by Her grace I grow," she murmured, tucking her chin to her chest.

She extended her arms out and up until they were raised above her head, palms facing upward in a gesture of acceptance. 

"You are to remain in meditation until I return," the Cultivator instructed. "At that time, if your heart is prepared, you will undergo your Flowering."

Without another word, the Cultivator turned and strode out of the room, leaving the door open behind her. Aster saw her feet disappear, but did not lift her head to watch her go. She inhaled deeply through her nose, held it for a moment, then released it through her mouth and began to murmur softly to herself. 

“Perivyta, Sower of Life, from whom all life derives. All life is your holy and sacred gift, and we give thanks to you in all we do. We are your Purest Seed, created from your being and scattered by your hand into the world to produce your fruit. The Earth is your holy gift to us, yet we also are your gift to the Earth. All we take from it, we return to you in glory. As you nurture us body and soul, so we shall nurture others, and their growth shall be our growth, and our growth shall be your growth. You are the holy giver of life and the holy giver of suffering; when we flourish we rejoice in your bounty, and when we suffer we rejoice in your Pruning. We submit to your will, that at the end of our lives when we are gathered into the Great Harvest, we may be counted among the fruitful and brought to your Table of Plenty. Let us not stray from your ways, lest we be cast aside with the chaff and burned in the fire of your hearth.” 

Aster had never been good with time, but she’d once heard another initiate say that it took less than two minutes to recite the Tenet Prayer. Of course, that was if you were simply reciting the words with the goal of reaching the end; Aster found that if she slowed down and focused on each line, connecting it with the deeper meaning of each tenet in her mind, the prayer would take even longer. Which, on the one hand, made the time spent meditating seem to pass slower, but on the other hand, at least it gave her something to think about other than the deep, persistant ache that was already beginning to develop in her arms. 

She closed her eyes, and began again. 

“Perivyta, Sower of Life, from whom all life derives…”

---

Author's Note: Aaaand that's where I'm leaving off this first installment! Don't worry, there's more coming very soon, and while it won't necessarily have less world building, it will definitely have a lot more whump! If you'd like me to make a taglist for this fic, let me know and I'll definitely do that!

[characterassassination-at-9am]

Get To Know Me

Thanks for the tag @a-noble-dragon and @flowertrigger

Last song: Listened to the entire Adjustments album on my way to work because the roads are shit and it took longer than normal

Last film: Good Grief? I think. I started Theater Camp last night, but was SO tired and couldn't finish it.

Currently reading: The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo for me, The Parable of the Sower for book club (trying), and The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind with my oldest kid.

Currently watching: Recently binged the whole first season of Murderville (Annie Murphy stars in one episode!). It's a pretty funny premise for a show. Other than that, not much. I flip back and forth between Always Sunny and Curb Your Enthusiasm while on the treadmill. I don't love love either of them, but they're entertaining enough.

Currently consuming: Tea

Currently craving: Sleep and a normal routine. Between winter break, a snow storm, below freezing wind chills, and taking off last minute to drive to Noah's show mid-week....my kids' school schedule and my work schedule have been all over the place.

No tags. I think most people in my circle have done this or been tagged already.

[esters-notepad]

Our years are quickly blown away

like clouds on stormy seas.

No sooner dawns a lovely May

than light and flowering cease.

O year, your summer turned to snows.

Have thanks for what you gave,

and if your gift was but a rose

to lay upon a grave.

O, King of storms and ocean,

o, King of life and years,

who keeps the world in motion,

breaks down, renews and bears:

You hold our fates and hours

as New Year's Evening wanes

and in your mighty sower's

hand glimmer still the grains.

Grant music, harp and lyre

when working days are long.

Quell not our burning fire,

our yearning for a song.

Like meadows green and growing,

like wind, o'er waves a-blowing,

our days let sing along.

Grant us a bed to lie on,

a home, our daily bread.

Grant shoulders we can cry on

in times of grief and dread.

Grant faith we can rely on

till we, at last, are dead.

-Erik Axel Karlfeldt (translated by me)