Wassail, traveler, and welcome to The Gable Grey -- a place of retreat, of renewal, and of resistance: a tree-shaded refuge in Dark Times. Now pass the threshold, and rest from journeys! For a cold wind is blowing; and here, if you wish, you may hear tidings of the world without...

Thursday, February 14, 2008


Adrienne miscarried two days ago.
Funny, how people react when you tell them. They feel like they must say something, but after all, what can one say? I don't know what I myself would say, or have said. The most religious nod their heads vigorously, almost reassuringly to themselves, and say, "It just wasn't meant to be. There's a reason for everything."
That actually makes it harder. The juvenile splinter of Christianity still worrying my psyche grasps at that, wants to believe it, needs to believe it; but that leads to other questions. I know that the only reasons for something like this have nothing to do with a cruel, callous myth lurking about the corners of the universe. The reasons are rational, material, biological (emphasis on the -logical, mind you). That is a bit more comforting. This miscarriage is not part of some greater plot by a Jewish tribal sky-god with nothing better to do. It just happened. Happens all the time, and for no spiritual or cosmological reasons; and only that allows me to sleep peacefully at night in the face of much of life's random, mindless disappointments.

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Whiles carried o'er the iron road,
We hurry by some fair abode;
The garden bright amidst the hay,
The yellow wain upon the way,
The dining men, the wind that sweeps
Light locks from off the sun-sweet heaps --
The gable grey, the hoary roof,
Here now -- and now so far aloof.
How sorely then we long to stay
And midst its sweetness wear the day,
And 'neath its changing shadows sit,
And feel ourselves a part of it.
Such rest, such stay, I strove to win
With these same leaves that lie herein.

-- William Morris, from
"The Roots of the Mountains"