Whether the weather is the T.O.E.

[labelwench]

The internalizing of so much irreverent information at one time in one place, generated enough heat in my biological form to raise the ambiant air temperature of the greater Whitehorse area to a comfort level for outdoor activities involving equines.

Regretably, the highly tuned weather predicting systems of my horses indicate that this pleasant state of affairs shall be of relatively short duration, and this being the day that I return to graveyard shift, t'will soon be back to a cold day in hell metaphorically as well as meteorologically.

One the bright side, for the present at least, I endure four graves' and enjoy three raves' per week. Life, (or the alternative) could be much worse.....

I really gotta try whatever you are "on", Austin, it certainly puts you "over the top"!

[austintorn@aol.com]

a cold day in hell metaphorically as well as meteorologically…


Consigned to oblivion in a block of ice in the center of Hell, the Dark One tried to break free, or did, causing a flurry of hail stones from Hell’s cold Heart of Darkness to fall upon the Earth…

(Weather Happenings)

The Tempest

( Spring/Summer of ‘08 )

It was as hot as eternal damnation yesterday, but little did I know that the under-worlded Pluto himself was hell-bent on extracting revenge for his demotion from a planet back to Master of the Infernal Regions.

The bright afternoon turned black as Evil’s heart as the so-called ominous-type clouds soon hid the mountain tops.

The branches flew, the cats hid, the thunder shook, the yard flooded, and the negatives balanced the positives as electrons and photons surged forth in lightning bolts—all as I watched from the garage.

Above me, light burnt not the clouds away;
Below me, the Earth yet turned under my feet;
Within me, unworded dreams haunted my soul;
Around me, Hell’s Master poured blackness on the ground.

Satan had broken free from his block of ice in the heart of Hell, where Dante had placed him, showering the Earth with hail and a heck of a storm that had Goodness on the run for a while.

It was he, the Devil, that once said through Milton’s pen that “it was better to reign in Hell that to serve in Heaven”. Now he had changed it to… “it’s better to reign on Earth…”

So, I said to myself, ‘Self, are you still there or have you gone apparent?”

I was still there, in a temporary netherworld, swirling into the abyss of fire and brimstone thrown about by Lucifer, now promoted to the King of Darkness all around.

This Dark Symphony played the notes of doom as ice crystals big and small pelted the world around me as hail stones that magically stayed frozen on the warm ground, the ice growing an inch deep.

Hell was freezing over—and so now I could walk on water, and did so in the yard, amazing all—wishfully dancing on the grave of Beelzebub.

The bolts had flown, missing me, for I am still here posting. At last the storm was over.

To the north, far beyond the hills and over the border, a rainbow arced towards me, landing at my feet and then colored me and my heart with happiness.

Toward the end of a sunny day,
A storm came and washed away,
And the sunset clouds, being glad,
Held a party for the returning lad.

The sun then peeked, and soft shone
Into the mist of the departing squall,
Its light split into particolors lone,
Separating, each from the ALL—

A bouquet of colored rays
Swirled into sight,
And promised good weather
For the rest of the night.

The rainbow lit up the east,
As long we attended the feast
Of both the east and the west,
Till into darkness we descended blest.

The stars guided the homeward flight
By shining their jeweled lights
Of ruby, emerald, and sapphire
In living colors of blazing fire.

Yes, ice cubes had fallen this afternoon in the mountains of the Hudson River Valley in New York from a hailstorm, followed by such a torrential rain that you couldn’t even see through it.

So I quickly went to buy some grass seed to put on a steep muddy hill that was eroding and so then used this perfect time to seed it and rake it over, pulling out some large weeds, myself ever slipping and sliding down the slope, and often touching some big rocks that then just easily rolled down the hill. I also fell in the mud once or twice.

I was dirty, sweating, and dripping and almost done when heavy dusk arrived, the fog settling into the hollows all around, creating a kind of primeval scene. Then the full moon appeared and so I was able to finish. I stood and rested a bit.

Some ancient frequencies began resonating in me, my brain and mind synchronizing and sympathizing with them. I felt like… Early Sapiens.

Then I took a short walk down the road and jumped into a pond that was clear, cool, and deep. The full moon’s reflections on some ripples formed two straight strands, about 6 feet long, of pearls of little moons that seemed to be underneath the surface of the water. If I closed one eye, then there was only one strand.

This was life being experienced, a result of what is. The message speaks, the messenger is secondary, unknown even. Live it; love it; be it.

The roses will soon bloom, marking the beginning of summer.

The moments are ever as they are and will be.

[austintorn@aol.com]

OLD AUTUMN

Each year, in October, Jack-in-the-Green has a rendezvous with Old Autumn, who colors the leaves that Jack made so verdant in the spring. They meet out in the middle of the woods, although never in the same place, for the seasons come and go and meet as they may. This year Old Autumn was a little late, so Jack-in-the-Green sat down on a tree stump to wait. He began to ponder his disappearing green youth, for it was evident that someday he would have to take Old Autumn’s place and perform all of his withering tasks. A few days later Old Autumn came by and gave Jack a cheery greeting and an embrace which marked summer’s end. He gazed fondly at Jack, his younger self, and saw the vitality that was once his; then said, “Once I was young; once I was you!”

“I know,” said Jack, “Do you remember how I refused to believe it?”

“Yes,” remembered Old Autumn, “it was like the time that I met Old Man Winter on a snowy day long ago. He told me then that he was my older self—and I didn’t believe it! Yes, I was already feeling my age, but after seeing that ancient white-haired geezer I felt young again! Of course he knew me very well.”

Swallows twittered in the skies as Jack-in-the-Green picked a ripening gourd and gave it to Old Autumn.

“Well, Jack,” he encouraged, “you won’t have to meet the Old Man until you take my place, for only I can see him after I take down the last of the oak leaves. For now, the Old Man sends only his errand boy, Jack Frost, your twin brother. Hi ho, here he comes now! Aye, this is the rarest of days, for the three of us can be together but once a year.”

“The Old Man is lonely, is he not?” asked Jack-in-the-Green, “for he sees only you.”

“Yes. Old Man Winter lives cold and alone. He never sees the dear maidens of the spring who reinvent the natural world each year.”

There is a chill in the air as Jack Frost arrives and sings out a greeting: “Hello my brother! Hello Old Autumn! It’s going to be very cold tonight; we are going to have our first frost, but don’t worry—it won’t harm the pumpkins any.”

Old Autumn sighed and replied: “Good. Now the rest of the leaves will crack and fall all the sooner due to the ice in their veins; yes, they’ll fall like the last illusions of my youth. Soon you’ll see me ‘lying carelessly on the granary floor’ and ‘on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep, drowsed with the fume of poppies’, as Keat’s described me.”

Composing himself, Old Autumn continued: “And for those of you who think that ‘warm days will never cease’, let us ever remember dear Johnny Keats who died so young; however, he lived and saw much more than many of us might hope to do in a lifetime.”

A shiver ran through Jack-in-the-Green, and he spoke: “I must go now.”


Once, I ventured outside at 4 AM on a dark frosty October morning to get an early preview of the stars of winter. It was so quiet that I could sense the spirit of the cosmos as it played rhythm to my fast beating heart. Oh, Orion, I exclaimed. You are so high in the sky—you hang there only for the astronomer’s eye—as the meteors fly by. Then I heard a rustling sound in the leaves around me—a skunk perhaps—but no, it was the sound of falling leaves. I knew that it must be him, Old Autumn; he was out there somewhere. Then I sensed him going by, for some of the leaves on the tree right in front of me broke loose and floated away, hitting some other leaves on the way down and making that rustling sound that I’d heard earlier. Then it stopped, but soon it started up on the next tree, and then the next—and so I could very well follow the path of Old Autumn making his rounds in the misty morn.

[austintorn@aol.com]

— The Union Begets All —

There’s a subtle, interlinked complexity of
Life, a relation that unites the world in love—
The earth is our mother, sustaining from below;
The sky is our father, nourishing from above.

[austintorn@aol.com]

— Grateful Prayer —

My blood runs warm with the sun’s heat at noon.
My spirit is swept by the swelling moon.
Air surrounds me. The ocean flows through me.
Earth’s rhythm is always playing my tune.

[labelwench]

Spring slips her ermine mantle slowly,
Promising much,
Revealing little....

[austintorn@aol.com]

The Maidens of Spring are such a tease. The more you look, the more nothing happens.

[labelwench]

The Maidens of Spring are such a tease. The more you look, the more nothing happens.

Austin, dear, I don't recall using the term "maiden" anywhere in my post.

From experience,I would suggest that Spring is a Matriarch....


To paraphrase Robert Service:

"It isn't the gold that I'm wanting,
so much, as just finding the gold...."

[austintorn@aol.com]

From experience,I would suggest that Spring is a Matriarch....


She is. The maidens only work for her, such as Jack Frost works for Old Autumn. Old Man Winter, though, is ever alone, and dies before the sighting of the spring flings.

[labelwench]

From experience,I would suggest that Spring is a Matriarch....


She is. The maidens only work for her, such as Jack Frost works for Old Autumn. Old Man Winter, though, is ever alone, and dies before the sighting of the spring flings.

Austin, I would suspect that you confuse my use of the term "Matriarch" with the term "Madam", which includes the employment of other females. In the first use, the relationship is family, not used in the sense of "family business."