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...

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Winter in the Naith

Three weeks into 2009, and the year is looking good.

Obama was inaugurated 44th President yesterday. I worked, and have not bothered to go back and watch video of it. It is enough that the idiot W. is out, and someone of more than average intelligence holds the Oval Office. So long as he does not screw things up, I will be somewhat content.

I have already set out two blackberry bushes (Ouachita variety), and two of the purple-leaved Loropetalum hedge which will finish out the long-neglected (not by me) flower bed on our house's north side. Waiting for me to plant still are three new cypresses and a turkey fig, my first attempt at growing a fig tree. Should be interesting.

Took my second of three Praxis II tests a couple of weeks ago, the Social Studies one, which will add to my successful Biology test of November; I will take the last test, the English one, in March. I am getting together information for what my best friend Richard calls "boot camp," an intenisve three-week teacher education course held in June at Pearl River Community College. How I will work that along with my regular job will be a challenge, but I am rather clever, after all... At any rate, I should be set to begin looking for a job as a high school teacher come July. I am so ready.

Meanwhile, the trees sleep, and I continue to plot and scheme, and gaze from time to time at the Glacier webcams.

One day...

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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"