Kelpie's Tale

I sincerely wish I would write in an accurate irish accent, but this is the best I can do.

Climbing about in th' rigging high
O'er the crest o' th' rolling sea
We sailed on th' edge o' th' world when
We sailed, my friend and me
And whether above the rolling deeps
Or moored in th' island's lee
Or riding the edge o' th' hurricane
Braw and singing were we.
Through the storms that brooked no voyaging
Our bonny 'wee ship sailed free
Until the morn we saw th' coast
O' living emerald and rocky scree
And the eyes o' my friend were caught hard fast
By a lassie mon' lovely tae see
Her long golden hair and her sea-green eyes
Called my frien' awae frae me
By the rising sun we saw her clear
In the bay by the edge o' th' sea
An' I spoke out a warning which he heeded not
Tae speak tae the lassie must he
Yet, my friend could no' see, alas!
That the maid was an ocean kelpie
An' after that day, 'twas no hope for it
But he must wi' th' maid tae be.
Wi' braw strong words I urged my friend
Tae coom awae, tae flee
But none o' my words could tear his heart
Frae th' lass waiting silently
Sighing by day and tossing by night
He didna sing but mournfully
'Twas a full dozen days that I cared for my friend
An' kept him frae the edge o' th' sea
For 'tis known that th' kelpies, for all they are fair
Drown sailors, yea, mercilessly.
As the thirteenth day dawned, tae my sorrow I found
That my friend was gone frae' me!
Had gone to th' kelpie's sea-green eyes
Gone down in her company.
With heavy heart I th' anchor raised
Sad prepared tae sail tae sea
But as I left th' bay, I heard
A sound which could no' be
'Twas the song o' my friend lifted loud an' clear
Frae' the sparkling depths o' th' sea
And just for a moment I saw him near
Swimming there, with his blond kelpie.
And since that day I've sailed endless tracks
And hae' done so joyfully
For above and below we still sail and sing
Together, my friend an' me

Physics.

I'm not sure if it's my personality type or a lack of discipline.
Today has been interesting...as in the old Chinese proverb, "May my enemy's life be interesting." Currently, I'm looking at the past two and a half hours of struggling with two physics assignments that are due in the morning, and no matter what I do, nearly all of my attempts are wrong.
Anger is a funny thing. I like to hold mine out at arms length and look at it, instead of soaking it in and acting as I want to. Heaven knows I would absolutely love to start shouting in my poor, startled professor's face, mainly about his decision to record his lecture for the snow day and his general unavailability when I need him. Poor man--I can see his blue eyes bugging out of his head in shock, and even in my angry imagination it makes me chortle. But, it's not all his fault. Most of it, but not all of it.
I would love to break something right now. I know, I know--that's generally a guy's perogative when they're furious, not a girl's, but my head doesn't understand that and there's rampage's worth of adrenaline flowing through my body, just aching to be used in some distructive purpose. Unfortunately, I can't work it off by running or even stomping around the apartment, since dropkicking Katie's box of books on Friday has left me with a slightly broken foot.
I'm also angry at myself, for being unable to work through what I'm sure are simple ideas, at least to somebody. And as this anger is the only piece I can take out on somebody, I take it out on myself, by continuing to struggle and waste time in my quest to finish a project which will never, I am sure, be done.
And so I sit here, frustrated somewhat enraged and tired and feeling nastily helpless, deadlines looming, colorful curses running through my head (along the lines of, "may the fleas of a thousand camels..."). And more than that, I'm sitting quietly, albeit slightly wild-eyed. Lots of anger, nowhere to put it. I just want help.

Breath

He ceased to breathe.
And the pain and sorrow which ripped through the world threatened to tear it apart. But even in his grief the father would not allow this to be, and so he wrapped his arms around the world, the filthy, wretched world that had just murdered his only son, and he held it to his heart as his tears fell.
And the earth shuddered as he cried.

ExC

For extra credit in OChem, Barnhurst has given us the option of writing a limerick based on the study of Organic Chemistry. Yours truly thinks that's pretty much the most beard idea ever.

Of all the lab rules that are worst
The wearing of goggles comes first
One day I didn't
My eye got acid in it
And I cried, "Wish I'd listened to Barnehurst!"

Water and Light

At the end of this year, the Tropical Biology class is headed to Indonesia for three weeks of scuba diving, snorkling, volcanic hiking, and chasing small, rabid monkeys through the jungle. Yes, we'll be doing learning-oriented stuff, but still. Three. Weeks. Of. Sun. And. Ocean. Pure magic, right there.
I think that, if I had my own choice, I would never leave the water. We've stayed at a hotel for the past two nights, and the indoor pool was like the icy kiss of death. And I loved it. The hot-tub was so very very warm, and I loved it. And this morning, when the sun was just streaming through the large glass walls, it caught the ripples and made them dance across the floor of the pool. And just like a two year old, I was totally enthralled with those ripples of light across my fingers. It's the only time I've ever been able to hold sunlight in the palms of my hands.
It made me think of Puerto Rico, and the first time (only time, so far) that I've been snorkling on a reef. The interplay of underwater light is like nothing I've ever seen, and it's beautiful. I wouldn't mind staying there for the rest of my life.
Granted, said life would be about four minutes long, and after the first minute and a half I don't think it would be very enjoyable. You know, drowning and all.
But still. It's lovely and I wish I could take everybody to Indonesia with me. If anyone needs 3 more biology credits...who knows? Snyder might let you in.

Blue Moon

Still winter pool the sky reflects
Faint burst of stars rekindling
Blue moon blazes a path it raises
Who knows what things this night will bring?
If fate, or chance, or peace or love
Or luck, the rarest of them all
'Tis evident a spell is sent
Within its radiant blue fall

Lord Tennyson's Tale

In hard sunbright armor
He rode by the river
A curse fair unleashed
Was all he could give her
A hundred puzzled faces
In a cracked crystal mirror
Did he know what he did
When he sang, "Tirra lirra?"
'Twas the strength of his voice
That pulled her 'cross the room
And yet did not save her
From the curse of the loom
A hundred chilled teardrops
In a cracked crystal mirror
Did he know what he did
When he sang, "Tirra lirra?"

"But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, 'She has a lovely face.
God in his mercy lend her grace...
The Lady of Shallot.'"

If ye have a chance, ask Haluska about this'n sometime. 'Tis a fair wild tale in it's entirety, and one of my favorites.

Mixing and matching

Cavernous ice glows azure freezing cold
Crystalline snow captures sun’s early gold
Variegated gold patterns in the grain of the tree
Clear salty blue in the shallows at sea
Deep winter green of the Green river flowing
Same green of a smoothly round ocean stone glowing
Sharp purple blackness of early midnight
Rippling pale shadows of winter moonlight
Cardinal’s eyes living obsidian made
Silky rough driftwood from coastlines of jade
Hypnotic blue at the heart of a flame
Wind from the west with the dense scent of rain
Heart breaking the stillness and echoes in sleep
Low drumming rhythm of earth sounding deep

Day of Choices

7:49am
Wake up call. Mom's already up and cleaning up the kitchen--we left it be last night so we could just talk together in front of the fire before we slept. I should go help.

11:32am
Keep feeling these slow waves of panic shuddering through me. Everything is so empty, last night home is over, the fire's out. Packing progresses, but slowly. The more we get done the more I can see has to get done before the day is over. If I keep busy, it keeps the panic away. But I don't want to leave.

5:05pm
Getting tired now. Amanda has announced that she's done for the night. We still have hours left to pack, and she wants to stop. EVERYBODY wants to stop, but we don't. It's so much harder to keep hauling load after load over to Grandpa's with all this snow.

7:22pm
Wicked nasty cramps, so I can't tell if the nausea is from PMS or just that leaving is making me ill. Too bad all the meds are packed up. I'm so tired--my feet are killing me, and I don't think this kitchen will ever be empty. I just want to go home. What a joke.

9:45pm
We've stopped for the night. One more load to cart over, but we're all bone-weary and need to sleep. One bathroom for six of us, now. Everything is so cramped here--I'm used to wide spaces and silence and privacy. Not sure I can do this. Have to do this.

10:02
Just broke down. Guess all the panic caught up to me. Still have to do this.

East

In the style of Browning. Not sure if I like the meter...

Strength of midday rays have ceased
Last hope fading in the west
Twilight creatures rise from rest
As shadows glide in from the east

Sandstone

I blinked the sun out of my eyes and dug my fingers in more tightly as I scrambled over the warm red rock. It was a lovely hot evening, and my friends and I were in Arches National Park, exploring and climbing everything we could reach.
I was racing a tall friend of mine to the top of one of the massive ridged monoliths deep within the park’s interior. Our goal was a small arch near the top, probably forty or fifty feet above the sandy ground and relatively easy looking, at least enough that we didn’t take too much care in scrambling towards our goal.
He had ranged to the left of me, and in his lanky tallness was succeeding better than I at finding holds, which meant that I was lagging several feet behind. I took a chance on a promising shortcut and reached high overhead, pulling myself up and reaching for another handhold.
I lost all sight of our contest when I realized that there was nothing there. No handholds, no rock solid enough to smear. A quick glance down showed me that, not only was there no sure way for me to back down, but I had edged around a slight overhang and there was nothing underneath to come between me and a very sharp and nasty fall.
I remember looking up at the arch, only a few feet and a million miles above my hands, and thinking—this is a stupid way to die. Of all the ways I would have picked—falling to my death in a national park, mere inches from safety—surely there are more intelligent ways to go.
And then the sandstone beneath my hands began to crumble, and all my sarcastic thoughts turned into sheer panic, the kind you can only feel when you are absolutely certain you are about to die. I don’t know how it was possible to cling any closer to that rock, but I did it. And my feet still kept sliding.
An important rule for free climbing in an isolated place like Arches is, never fall quietly. And, like any rational person, in the critical moment I forgot all about yelling and concentrated on my slowly slipping fingers, afraid to make a sound.
Next thing I knew, a blond curly head came into view as my friend looked down to check on my progress and gloat over his victory. I looked up at him, too afraid to even move enough to ask for help.
Luckily, the man is blessed with rapid intuition as well as strength. The next second he had one hand around my wrist and the other anchoring us both . His calm “I’ve got you” and the total confidence behind it instantly took away my fear, and a precarious moment later he had hauled me up beside him.
We shook off the adrenaline, laughed about it, and watched a sunset that was worth risking a life to see.
Life is made up of goals. Some are easy, and some are just deceptively so. And I know what it’s like to get to the point where you panic and think, I can’t do this. I’m going to fall, and it’s going to hurt. A lot. But I also know what a relief it is to realize that you aren’t going to fall after all, because something bigger than you has a hold on you and isn’t worried in the least. And it places the unattainable within reach.
Ps. 40:2 “He lifted me…he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.”

Snow Ranger

He quickly on his way doth go
His resting place no man may know
And as his breath emerges, so!
Before him wanders ice and snow
The Winter Ranger sings.
No mortal knows how old he be
But still his steps sound steadily
And through the fields of snow walks he
The wintertide he brings.

For ages his winter songs he's sung
And through the woods his words have rung
Bringing snow from where the stars are hung
And yet, his smiling eyes are young,
Their depths reflect the dark.
His hair is outflung silv'ry white
Keen eyes reflect the skies own light
Their blue still bold and quick and bright
For nothing yet escapes his sight
The Winterbringer--hark!

He pauses here to muse a space
Upon a tree of extraord'nry grace
Then leaves it rimmed in frosty lace
The Warden of the Snow.
He turns to go--but then is still
He stops in silence on a hill
And to his icy heart, a thrill
As sunrise lights his work and will
With a brilliant gleaming glow.