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mantrabay · 4 years ago

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A Little Known Shortcut.

Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell.

Even when prickly brambles

scrape my eyelids or those bony ankles are being twisted by tooth like stones. The angular sort clustered mischievously among the green shoots that litter every footpath.

They lie in wait, in ambush.

It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman.

Meandering landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills that are rife in my area.

Their rustic heritage sometimes sacrificed to the orphanage of malleable motives.

Crop farmers obsessed with bountiful harvest.

A restless developer pushing the limits of an urban jungle.

Fellow traveller in league with fugitives from the cockpit.

The pressure cooker of modern life.

The town dweller with split loyalties who clings to the tumult of the city but hankers after some rural idyll.

Culprits one and all.

A lair from the hubbub.

Dwellings of the quaintest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.

The more alluring aspects of tradition have been preserved.

Among these are shortcuts or bypasses.

Those sequestered passages that shave miles off for the perennial rambler or clueless hitchhiker.

The eye becomes a lense to all these

things hidden or supposedly hidden.

Human vision as sensor to magic trails.

Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.

They festoon the sprawling countryside at random.

My name is Eric Spring.

Anthea, my partner a transcendental meditation teacher retired early at an early age.

Her withdrawal from work was never meant to be permanent.

A final decision hinged on Anthea's ability to purge that fiendish veil of sadness that had been shadowing her.

There were several obstacles in her path but they weren’t insurmountable.

Thoughts of Anthea in her halcyon days haunted me.

Mental pictures of a vibrant woman imbued with passion.

Poignant evocative heart-tugging images.

Bar excursions into town my station is that of Anthea’s carer.

This eternally stoic woman is mindful of her mental boundaries and the abyss concealed by each of them.

But she is not prone to self-hate or abuse. The more lethal plagues of the psyche hadn't yet impacted on her.

Anthea was groping for exits but hadn’t found the signs.

She remains housebound as I embark on those age defying treks into town.

We keep in touch by mobile phone.

A very angelic sensitive looking person is she.

Reminiscent of a Sunday Times editor.

The accent filters every noun and stresses every nuance.

Like the sounds from an early morning orchard.

Anthea's job became monotonous and her other pursuits painting and writing fled without trace.

A budding artist’s most dreaded syndromes struck.

Writer's block. Artistic vacuum.

The wellspring of her imagination now devoid of those inspiring flashes that sustain creative impulse.

She had few outlets bar my care and a lady called Fidelma who had the edge on me with regard to local knowledge. I longed to hear Anthea's voice on my device.

Her hypnotic voice bridges gaps.

You feel close even when speaking to her from a distance.

I love the walks and savouring all those pivot points of folklore.

I pride myself on my intimate knowledge of every branch strewn rivulet, stream and layered rock formation.

My links to the environment are almost erotic as I crave it's sensual touch.

At times I enter a tranquil zone where the shutters are drawn.

Just myself and all those habitats.

“Hello Eric? Lost in thought again.

How is anthea these days?

I spoke to her over the phone a few days ago.

I sometimes drop in on her when you are out.”

Fidelma speaking with that chirping red robin voice of hers.

She had this penchant for suddenly appearing like an archaeological site.

And she vanished just as quickly leaving the person she spoke to scrambling to process her asides and insights before they disappeared.

Neighbour, friend, root and branch archivist whose grasp of detail was legendary.

“She seems to be coping.” I said.

“Glad to hear that. Maybe I can pay a flying visit some time soon.

But aren't you a foolish man to be imposing all those Olympic Marathons on yourself?”

Fidelma about to share one of her treasured nuggets.

“I love walking but any tips?”

Spring enquired naively as events soon demonstrated.

“There’s a shortcut…..a little known shortcut.

People in the know recommend it though I have never actually used it myself.

Maybe I will one day.

See, it's on the right hand side up the road there.

Think it might be useful when you want to get home in a hurry.” She concluded.

Fidelma in advanced middle age was still sprightly and youthful in her ways.

I missed a text from anthea and Fidelma noticed.

“Yes. I have one of those gadgets too.

Keeps me connected.

Took me awhile to master it.

Wish there was a shortcut for that.

But I'll best be on my way.

Take good care whatever the route.”

As always having spoken to Fidelma I wondered about in a trance.

Another colourful aspect of Fidelma’s personality was her “Banana Skin Syndrome.”

She could lose her balance betimes when enthusing about a topic or when she stumbled on an area that fascinated her.

The feet were a little wobbly.

All this against her philosophy about how interconnected everything is.

The mind is an antenna sending out signals to others was a frequent broadside of hers.

Even when Fidelma said very little she always had this magnetic effect on others.

Those terse one liners could trigger an avalanche in the mind.

Her thin phrases were always shrouded in a well crafted poetic meter.

It was in the tone, gestures and body language.

Those beady yet expressive eyes scanning her environment like a radar screen.

A cascade of images and sound bytes ensued when she left.

Several hours passed as my mind was in overdrive like a central processing unit.

I heard this inner voice telling me to explore this “shortcut.”

Having texted Anthea I then proceeded to this offshoot of a lane.

It was going to lighten the journey of this slope and pavement plodder.

Off I went down this quaint country shortcut.

Nothing out of the ordinary to begin with until Anthea rang.

“Gnawing feeling of sadness.

My mind is a dark blue canvass at the moment.”

Her lilting twang mingling with the song birds at the start of my downward journey.

I sensed this was urgent and started to walk quickly.

That's when problems arose.

Just a plain country passage with a primarily flat surface at this point.

There were houses on each side and some weeds strewn and partially mangled, turned to mulch by wild and indiscriminate boots.

Strange feelings welled up within me as I felt like a geyser at yellowstone.

The puff and splutter of tractors in nearby fields as furrows, the epicenter of future yields were turned.

Scarecrows were strategically perched in the meadow behind the right hand hedge to ward off some menace or other.

Something told me to relate my surroundings to Anthea.

If only to divert attention from an impending gloom.

Those barely audible inner prompts again.

“Eric, I don't want to pressurise you but at the moment I feel this dark cloud.”

Eric paused.

It then occurred to me that I was engulfed by dark foreboding clouds in tandem with a rising rainbow like haze.

As Anthea continued her disorders seemed to be complemented by external threats of rain intermingled with sunshine.

“I feel, Eric there is a radiance trying to break through.

Just to see you … your presence is a light which I could focus on.”

Then I realised that speed was of the essence.

That's when I could have panicked.

Anthea’s voice seemed louder, but also more lyrical as I realised this obscure

overlooked route could have done with some restoration!

Tufts of grass oozing slime.

Mounds of mud with pockets of oil stained water.

The briars were a shock team that endangered every part of the human body.

I was conveying all this to anthea as I was trying to dash at my normal pace.

Oddly Anthea’s tone of desperation started to dip.

But she did appear less tense as I told her this story over the phone.

“Someone told me this is a shortcut.”

Eric said gingerly.

“Who was that ? Anthea asked.

“Fidelma. We met on the main road just a short while ago.” I responded.

“You know her a bit better than I do.”

Anthea observed. “She's going to call over one of these days I'm sure.”

By now Anthea, initially nervous was mellowing as I continued with my frantic running … and staggering commentary!

She didn’t have had much to excite her over the last five years.

But I had to be careful lest those dark brooding phases returned.

Like a roving reporter I regaled her with lurid descriptions of limp green shrubs, tea brown leaves shredded on fissured rocks, juice dripping blackberry bushes with foraging earwigs seeking shelter from the sun.

But here I was almost knee deep in tangled foliage while keeping the love of my life up to speed!

The labyrinthine outcrops and mock craters were all included.

Suddenly misfortune struck without warning.

I nearly sprained my leg as I fell face down on a grassy patch.

Sprawled awkwardly across this surface my phone went flying but I managed to catch it.

“Eric, are you ok?

I don’t mean to be a burden.

Will I get someone to meet you at the end of this lane or short cut.”

Anthea again.

“I'm fine, Anthea.”

Eric said before slowly rising.

I kept detailing my observations and Anthea was reacting positively.

But I made it eventually with the sounds of the road as guide.

The temperatures continued to rise causing perspiration.

Peering thru the maze of entwined growths I saw … Fidelma.

“Where did you spring from?” Eric punning his own name.

“Fidelma ...you fell too.” A question that might have appeared tactless.

She was getting up, having fallen when taking her bearings it seems.

“Fidelma …. thanks but no thanks.

The shortcut.” I said.

“You are shivering.” She observed.

“I am. Spring responded.

“Got to get to Anthea because she might be in need of help.” Spring continued.

We both headed for my house as quickly as possible.

But it wasn’t far.

I texted Anthea and she answered by saying she had every reason to speak to me.

One wondered what that might be.

My face whitened.

Fidelma and I soon reached the house where I lived.

Eric pressed the doorbell as his heart pounded.

The door opened suddenly and we couldn't believe what we saw.

“Anthea, is that you?

I haven't seen you smile like that in years.”

I said.

Fidelma and I were perplexed to say the least.

“It’s early days yet but those locusts of darkness hopping around in my head maybe dwindling.

Those creative juices returned when I sensed your anxiety down the lane because I didn't want two sick people in this house.

But you brought splashes of vivid colour into my drawing room.

I could almost smell the rustic fragrance of every wilting petal and the creaking of every twig.

You set a whole cycle in train.”

Anthea then showed me two items she was working on.

“I have started a rough sketch of the lane you detailed and a short story.

There's been a sea change.” She said.

“Oh I wonder what I'll call this sketch and that short story?

Any ideas?” Anthea enquired.

Fidelma and I looked at each other and spoke almost in unison.

“I think we both have a fair idea what they both might be called.

Your story included.”

A little known shortcut indeed!

Photograph and short story copyright protected

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juniperwindsong · 5 years ago

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Necessary Monsters (1/16)

Summary: His first instinct is to pull her flush against him, and his second is to push her away to disguise his desire for the first. Neither seem appropriate for the setting and Felix settles for reaching a single arm around her to pat her back carefully.

No one at Hogwarts, staff or student, can remember a more heated build-up to the Quidditch Cup. The final match may be between Slytherin and Gryffindor, but the tension has set the entire school on edge. Even the professors have been caught playing sides. McGonagall has neglected to assign homework to Gryffindor the week leading up to the match, and there's a rumour Snape has excused the Slytherin team from Potions classes to fit in extra, secret trainings.

When the long-anticipated day finally arrives, students begin filing into the stands before breakfast to ensure they have decent seats, and by mid-morning there isn't an empty space anywhere. The stadium itself seems to vibrate with the collective anticipation.

It does not escape the notice of the more observant older students that the spectators appear to be evenly divided into crowds of red and green. Some people sport both colours simultaneously. A match like this would usually show the rest of the school united against Slytherin, the seats filled with red and gold and roaring lions. But enthusiasm for Slytherin is at an all-time high. Its Quidditch team is enjoying a popularity the house has not seen since before the first Wizarding War. For once, the palpable tension has little to do with which houses are playing and more to do with the players themselves.

Because it isn't just Gryffindor versus Slytherin, it's Weasley versus Windsong.

Both sixth years and captains of their respective teams. The former commonly believed to be the best Seeker ever trained at Hogwarts and the latter famous for her aerial acrobatics and ability to play any position with ease. Efforts by the opposite houses to knock each out of the running has forced both to travel with an entourage for the last month. An entourage that more often than not includes each other as it's a well-known fact that Charlie Weasley and Juniper Windsong are not only Quidditch rivals, but close friends.

The teams walk onto the pitch to tumultuous applause, the two captains coming to face each other on either side of Madam Hooch. They're surprisingly close in height, and the grins they flash at each other, hidden from most of the spectators, are genuine, if competitive. They shake hands, the teams mount their brooms, and the sound of Madam Hooch's whistle is drowned by the roar of the crowd as the players soar into the air.

The game begins, and Felix Rosier isn't sure he's ever been so nervous in his life. Which is ridiculous, he tells himself. He's faced down furious, fire-breathing dragons; why on earth should something as silly as a school Quidditch game have his heart thumping violently in his chest?

He grips his knees tightly as he watches the Slytherin Chaser identified as Skye Parkin by commentator Murphy McNully tear off down the field with the Quaffle. She performs a complicated little flying manouevre that confuses the Gryffindor Keeper and earns the first goal of the game. The stands erupt. Felix realizes he's dizzy from holding his breath. He exhales forcefully and reminds himself that he's not invested in the outcome of this match.

"Relax, friend, what will happen will happen. What can we add to the match by worrying?"

Felix cuts his eyes across to the young man next to him. It's been a few years, but he recognizes the disheveled hair and unshaven chin of recently graduated Slytherin Quidditch Captain, Orion Amari.

"I'm not worried," Felix insists.

Orion nods. "A healthy perspective."

The crowd roars again as Skye Parkin approaches the Gryffindor goal posts at break-neck speed. Murphy McNully's magically amplified voice carries smoothly across the noise.

And will we see a second Slytherin goal in as many minutes? Parkin shoots and - No! Blocked by brand new Gryffindor Keeper, Oliver Wood!

"The new Gryffindor Keeper is well balanced, is he not? Skye will have to alter her tactics to get past him," comments Orion sagely.

Felix merely grunts in response. His focus is on the pitch, though his eyes aren’t following the progress of the Quaffle.

"You are Felix Rosier, aren't you? Slytherin's prefect from a few years ago?" Orion asks.

Felix gives a short nod.

"I heard you were in China studying dragons now?"

"Peru," corrects Felix tersely.

"Ah." Curiousity peeks through Orion’s unflappable veneer. "You know, I cannot remember ever seeing you at a Quidditch match before. Even when you were at school."

Of course, Felix thinks, it would be just his luck to be stuck beside the one person in the entire stadium more interested in conversation than the game.

"I never cared much for Quidditch. Waste of time, really," he says brusquely, hoping the former Captain will be offended enough to stop talking to him. But Orion merely nods again, face impassive.

"Everyone is entitled to their opinion. Although, yours makes it all the more unusual for you to be here."

Felix sighs. "It's an important match for... Slytherin," he says, before turning on Orion abruptly. "You've graduated as well, Amari. What are you doing here?"

"Showing support to my Quidditch family, of course," Orion replies. "We may graduate from school but we never graduate from our friends." He turns to inspect the progress of the game. "And, as you said, it is an important match. Especially for the new Slytherin captain."

Felix's heart stutters, but before he can respond the people around them are on their feet. McNully's commentary can just be heard above the renewed screams of excitement.

And Weasley dives! Is that the Snitch there on the ground? Could this match be over before it truly begins?

Everyone in the stadium, Orion included, is watching Charlie Weasley dive toward the grass below. Everyone except Felix, who closes his eyes, too nervous to look. One shaky breath, then two. The spectators burst into a mix of delighted cheers and disappointed cries.

Foiled! By the brilliant beating of Windsong and Lee!

At the sound of her name, Felix's eyes automatically. Just in time to catch a glimpse of Juniper Windsong swooping by the stands where Felix sits, as she takes a victory lap around the stadium. Felix’s stomach does a pleasant flip, and he has to fight to keep his face straight.

Everything from Juniper's wide grin to her perfect posture is exceptionally confident as she controls her Comet 260 with only her knees, both hands wielding her Beater's club. Squinting, Felix can just see Barnaby Lee opposite her across the pitch. Together, the two of them keep possession of a Bludger, hitting it back and forth to each other rapidly. Then, with a casual-looking flick of her wrist, Juniper sends it hurtling toward an unlucky Gryffindor Chaser. The Chaser dives out of the way of the Bludger, leaving the path to the goal posts wide open for Skye Parkin to score again.

"They make quite the team, do they not?"

Felix can just hear Orion's voice under the cheers and applause. He purses his lips tightly, but Orion continues as though he hasn't noticed.

"Such an easy rapport. It is indicative of true harmony both on and off the pitch. Perhaps more teams should consider choosing Beaters who are romantically involved."

"They're not romantically involved,” corrects Felix hotly. "Not anymore. They broke up last summer. They haven't been together all year."

"Interesting," Amari murmurs. Felix feels the younger man's eyes on him, but he keeps his gaze steadfastly forward.

The Slytherin Chasers make their way up the pitch in possession of the Quaffle. Felix recognises Skye Parkin's attempt to set up some sort of Quidditch play. He isn't sure of its name or its purpose, but he feels certain it does not involve a second Slytherin Chaser snatching the Quaffle away from Skye at the last minute causing a scuffle in mid-air. A Gryffindor Chaser nearby takes advantage of the confusion and swoops down on them from above. The Chaser nicks the Quaffle and tanks off down the pitch before Skye can gather herself. The red and gold waves in the stands stamp their approval.

Orion shakes his head. "That Chaser is not working in harmony with his fellow players."

Felix's eyes narrow at the offending player. "That's Marcus Flint. He's been driving Windsong mad all year. Doesn't want to take orders from a girl, apparently."

Madam Hooch's whistle rings through the Stadium calling for time out. Juniper Windsong and Skye Parkin land hard near the Slytherin goal posts, Skye ranting at the captain before her feet are even on the ground. Felix is too far away to hear any words, but it's obvious from Skye's wild gesticulations toward Marcus Flint, who has landed nearby, what the conversation concerns. Felix's jaw begins to ache, and he realizes he's been gritting his teeth.

"You know quite a bit about the inner workings of the team for someone who does not care for Quidditch," observes Orion, watching Felix instead of the players on the ground.

Distracted by the sight of Juniper now berating the sullen-looking Flint, Felix answers, "Juniper mentioned him," without thinking.

"I see," Orion says. "I did not know you were so close with our resident cursebreaker."

"We...write.” Felix’s cheeks redden in spite of himself.

"Peru is a long way to come to support a pen friend." Orion's tone is unassuming, but the heat continues to spread down Felix's collar.

"I happened to be in the country," says Felix defensively. "And, as she mentioned being nervous about the game and I had some time on my hands, I thought I'd stop by. That's all."

Orion makes no further comment as the Slytherin players return to the air. Felix steals a quick glance at his pocket watch, fervently hoping the match will not last much longer.

His hopes are dashed as another hour passes, Slytherin in possession of the Quaffle nearly the entire time. Felix is grudgingly impressed by Skye Parkin's performance. She whips between the Gryffindor players as easily as if they were training dummies, although Flint continues to be a thorn in her side. Juniper is forced to fly between them more than once to stop their in-fighting.

Usually Felix would be bored to tears by now, but he can't keep his eyes off Juniper as she flies expertly about the pitch. The way she manages to keep track of the entire game at once, occasionally calling out plays or advice to her team, all while flicking Bludgers at the Gryffindor seeker is fascinating to him. Felix knows admittedly little about Quidditch strategy, but even he can see Juniper's goal is to prevent the Weasley boy from catching the Snitch at all costs. She and Barnaby Lee shadow the fiery red-head about the pitch. No matter how fast he flies, the Gryffindor Seeker cannot seem to shake the Slytherin Beaters.

The fourth time Charlie Weasley spots the Snitch, the little gold ball is fluttering near the same stands in which Felix and Orion sit. Felix has a perfect view of Juniper as she bats a Bludger directly at Charlie's outstretched hand. In the split second he withdraws to avoid breaking any fingers, the Snitch disappears. Juniper grins cheekily at the furious Seeker, and Felix's stomach somersaults again.

Well folks, we're an hour in, and the score stands at 160 points to 40 for Slytherin! Seems like Gryffindor's usual strategy of relying on a quick win by Weasley just isn't working for them this time! Felix can detect a note of glee in McNully's commentary.

Tensions in the air have reached a fever pitch, and Felix has to stop himself from wringing his hands visibly in his lap. Marcus Flint seems to have elected himself Slytherin's enforcer. He abandons any attempts to score in favor of knocking into Gryffindor players who fly too close to Skye Parkin. The third time he does this, the unfortunate Gryffindor Chaser nearly falls from her broom, and Madam Hooch calls a foul. Felix watches Juniper fly right up next to Flint, grabbing his Quidditch robes by the collar and speaking fiercely into his face. Felix wishes he were close enough to hear what she's saying. He can guess, from the way Flint yanks his robes from her grasp and flies off angrily, it isn't encouragement. Felix runs his fingers through his hair nervously.

Play resumes as the Gryffindor Chaser shoots a penalty shot and scores. The cheers from the crowd have only just begun when a collective gasp ripples through them. Charlie Weasley rockets upward, lying flat against his broom for extra speed. At the far end of the pitch, Juniper hits one Bludger and then the other frantically at the Seeker who manages to dodge both.

"It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter," Felix mumbles under his breath as Weasley stretches his arm above his head, fumbling for the tiny gold ball.

Out of nowhere, Marcus Flint smashes into the Gryffindor Seeker's side, knocking him from his broom entirely. Weasley doesn't fall far before his arm is caught by a teammate, but the Gryffindor fans in the audience howl in outrage.

Foul by Slytherin Chaser Flint! There's Madam Hooch's whistle and it's a penalty shot for Gryffindor - but wait! Looks like Slytherin Captain Windsong has called for time-out.

The green-clad players swoop toward the ground. Felix watches Juniper stalk over to Flint, anger in her every movement. In spite of the distance between them, Felix fancies he can hear Juniper shouting at the rogue Chaser, who bellows right back. Flint is a good head taller than his Captain, broader as well, but Juniper squares up against him undaunted. She points a furious finger across the pitch to the changing rooms. Flint shakes his head, lips moving rapidly. Their argument lasts one tense minute before Flint, snarling, shoves Juniper away from him, hard.

Felix is on his feet without realising, blood pounding in his ears. He's not alone. The stadium around him appears to have exploded. Down on the grass, Barnaby Lee and another Slytherin player drag Flint away from Juniper, herself now restraining a shrieking Skye Parkin. Some primal instinct orders Felix to get to the pitch to assist, the fact that there's nothing he can do having no bearing whatsoever. It takes all the self-control he possesses to force himself to return to his seat.

Madam Hooch lands in the middle of the fight, blowing madly on her whistle. Felix's eyes widen as he recognises Snape crossing the pitch toward the scuffling team, as well. There's a few minutes heated discourse between the Slytherin Head of House and his Quidditch Captain before Juniper breaks away, breathing hard. She holds a swift, secret conversation with Skye, their heads bent close together, then she hands her Beater's bat to Madam Hooch and signals her team to remount their brooms. All except Flint. Felix watches, mouth hanging slightly open, as Snape escorts the furiously railing Slytherin boy back across the pitch and into the changing rooms.

And it looks like Windsong has booted Marcus Flint from the Slytherin team and is taking his place as Chaser! Slytherin will now be one player short for the most critical match of the entire year! A bold move for the new captain.

"Can she do that?" Felix asks, stunned, as the team waits for Madam Hooch's whistle to resume play.

"If she has done it, then it can be done," answers Orion mystically.

Felix brings a hand up to trace the long scar running down the side of his neck. He feels ridiculously helpless. He wishes vainly that he had never come to the match. If he'd had any idea how stressful Quidditch could be, he would simply have caught up with Juniper afterwards, and spared himself this torment.

The game begins again in earnest, and if Slytherin had a monopoly on the Quaffle before, it's nothing compared to now. Between Skye and Juniper, the Gryffindor Chasers barely have a glimpse of the ball. Slytherin gains another 30 points in less than ten minutes.

And Slytherin is now up by enough to win the match even with a Gryffindor Snitch capture! One has to wonder how this will affect Weasley's strategy...

It's obvious even to Felix that the Gryffindor Seeker has slowed his incessant circling of the pitch. Presumably, he’s waiting until the Chasers score more points, but it seems unlikely Gryffindor will ever catch up. While Oliver Wood manages to save about one in three shots at the goal posts, the Gryffindor Chasers cannot manage to wrest the Quaffle from Skye and Juniper. Although, Felix thinks he can detect a slight lag in the Slytherin Chasers' movements. He wonders if the lengthy game hasn't begun to tire them.

At 300 points up for Slytherin, the spectators begin to be restless. The buzz of scattered conversations can be heard amid the regular cheers.

"Is this a typical length for a Quidditch game?" Felix directs the question at Orion, and the young man gives his enigmatic smile.

"There is nothing typical about a Quidditch match. Each is unique," he replies knowingly, before adding: "This one is rather long, though."

Sudden shouts in the crowd around him cause Felix to look up. He’s in time to see Weasley dive once more, just in front of his stand. As Felix watches, Barnaby Lee zooms forward, Beater's bat poised to aim a passing Bludger at the Seeker, but a shrill whistle distracts him before he can execute the attack. Half the players on the pitch, and Felix in the stands, follow the source of the noise to the Slytherin Captain. Juniper hovers near a goal post, shaking her head frantically at Barnaby.

Felix furrows his brow, confused. "What, does she want Weasley to catch it?" he asks incredulously.

Orion's smile blossoms into something less mysterious and more genuine. "Charlie Weasley is a good friend of Juniper's. Perhaps, she wants his team to lose with dignity."

Felix's face twists in distaste. "Or perhaps she just wants the game to be over," he argues, as Charlie snatches the golden blur hovering just above the ground.

"That too," Orion agrees, and the stadium around them erupts.

Supporters of both sides are screaming and crying. Felix finds himself on his feet with everyone else, caught up in the wave of adoring Quidditch fans applauding uproariously. He watches the Slytherin team hit the ground, brooms forgotten as they reach for each other in a giant, scrum-like embrace. Felix realizes the back of his robes are soaked through with sweat as though he too has been flying nonstop for hours.

Students swarm from the stands like locusts to surround the new Hogwarts Quidditch champions. Felix is just considering whether or not to attempt pushing through them when he catches sight of one lone, green-clad figure moving against the crowd. Juniper forces her way through the ecstatic Slytherins to the end of the pitch where the Gryffindor team has landed, slightly more subdued. Charlie Weasley's bright red hair is visible even from high in the stands. Felix can make out the Gryffindor's reluctant grin as he extends a hand toward the approaching Slytherin. Juniper ignores it. She pulls the short, stocky boy into a tight hug, and Felix's stomach, writhing nearly non-stop for the entire match, suddenly turns to lead.

Beside him, Orion says into his ear, "So, what do you think of Quidditch now?"

Felix scowls, unable to rip his eyes away from the spectacle below him.

"Absolutely pointless," he grumbles.

In spite of her scene on the pitch and its obvious implications, Felix decides it would be a phenomenal waste of time to have endured such a painfully long match without seeing Juniper after all, so he joins the throng traipsing from the Quidditch Pitch to the Hogwarts' dungeons. Although it has been a few years, Felix is sure he's never seen the Slytherin common room so crowded. It's impossible to see to the wall opposite, the room is so tightly packed with cheering, jumping bodies. He's certain there aren't this many people in the whole of Slytherin house. Sure enough, Felix catches a glimpse of Penny Haywood and another Hufflepuff girl with spiky pink hair passing out Butterbeers and talking animatedly.

"What in Merlin's name are Hufflepuffs doing here?" Felix mutters to no one in particular.

"Quidditch has a way of bringing people together." Felix rolls his eyes hugely as he recognizes Orion's mellow voice from beside his shoulder. "As does Juniper Windsong."

Felix bristles but says nothing. It's true, Juniper's friend group has always been diverse. It's a trait he usually admires in her, but Felix isn't well-disposed to her inter-house friendships just at present. He has only a moment to brood over this, however, before enormous arms grab him from behind and lift him off his feet.

"Felix!"

He recognises the enthusiastic voice of Barnaby Lee. The muscular boy gives Felix another hard squeeze before lowering him back to the floor.

"Nice to see you too, Barnaby," Felix gasps, winded by the rib-crushing hug. He straightens his robes and glances around self-consciously. Quidditch team members are filing in behind Barnaby, and Felix's heart skips a beat as the crowd around them gives an enormous cheer. But it's only Skye Parkin entering the common room with the Quidditch Cup held above her head.

"What are you doing here?" asks Barnaby excitedly. "I didn't know you were back from China!"

"Peru," Felix corrects, attempting to scan the players behind Barnaby as casually as possible. "And yes, I arrived today."

"Just to see us play?"

Felix fixes his gaze on the extremely tall, well-built young man in front of him. Barnaby has grown-up significantly since the last time Felix saw him, but he hasn't lost any of his boyish good-looks. Felix recalls Orion's comments about Barnaby and Juniper from the Quidditch match, and his already bad mood continues to sour.

"No, of course not," he replies curtly. "I've applied for a transfer to the Romanian Reserve. My interview is next week."

"Wow! That's amazing!" Barnaby's face is full of awe, which soothes Felix's temper very slightly. "But... how did you know we had a match today?"

Felix repeats his now practiced excuse. "Juniper mentioned it in her last letter, and, as I was in the country in time, I thought I'd drop by."

"So, she doesn't know you're here? C'mon, she'll be so excited to see you!" Barnaby grabs Felix by the wrist before he can reply and wades into the sea of bodies, pulling the former prefect in his wake. Felix is careful to stand as close to Barnaby as possible to keep himself from being swallowed by the crowd. He isn't usually bothered by cramped spaces. He's spent the last three years in a variety of tight quarters. But something about the heat and noise and sweat from the excited bodies around him makes him feel dizzy. He closes his eyes, allowing Barnaby to drag him forward, and so he hears Juniper before he sees her.

"Look, I warned him all year. If he wasn't going to be a team player then he wasn't going to play on the team."

Felix’s eyes snap open automatically. A cluster of people in festive green face-paint block his view, many of them busy loudly protesting Juniper's words.

"Weasley would have caught that snitch without Marcus! He saved the game!" says one petulant voice.

"That's how Slytherin plays! It's about doing anything to win!" insists another.

All pretense of nonchalance abandoned, Felix cranes his neck over Barnaby's shoulder. He’s just able to glimpse the back of Juniper's head. Her hair falls in waves, much longer and more kempt than he remembers.

"Look, no one wants to win more than I do!" she argues, and Felix swears he can actually hear her smile. "Well, except maybe Skye."

There's an outburst of appreciative laughter from her audience.

"But cheating is a cop-out," Juniper continues. "It means someone else is really better than me and I couldn't beat them on my own. I told Flint, I wanted us to win because we were the best or die trying, but cheating to make that happen is just the same as losing."

"Yeah, and it's nothing to do with the fact that it's Weasley he knocked about," says a sly voice from somewhere in the crowd.

The outcry around her is divided into loud cheers and raucous laughter, but Barnaby's voice cuts through them.

"Juniper! Juniper, look who's here!"

Barnaby steps aside just as Juniper's head whips around. Her eyes widen in recognition as they fall upon Felix. He has a split second to worry whether he should keep his face neutral or attempt a smile, before she flings her arms around his neck, dragging him into an eager embrace. Felix's first instinct is to pull her flush against him, and his second is to push her away to disguise his desire for the first. Neither seem appropriate for the setting. He settles for reaching a single arm around her to pat her back carefully.

Juniper pulls away, leaving her hands resting on his shoulders. She's grown quite a bit if she can look him in the eye while doing that.

"You're here! I can't believe you're here!" she babbles excitedly, her face transported by her wide smile. She laughs giddily and hugs him again, and as Felix inhales that familiar aroma of lavender and something else he can't identify, all his ill-feeling evaporates.

However entangled she may be with anyone else, Barnaby Lee or Charlie Weasley, it's suddenly as meaningless to him as Quidditch. Her scent, her arms around him, her body pressed up against his, all confirm for Felix what he's suspected for the past year: he's in love with Juniper Windsong. And he's come back to Hogwarts with the express purpose of telling her so.

Read Chapter 2 | View all stories on the Masterpost

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liskantope · 5 years ago

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I’ve just reread my collection of political articles written by H. L. Mencken, in the book A Carnival of Buncombe: Writings on Politics. These articles span early 1920 to late 1936, over five presidential elections.

Below are a few of the passages I found the most interesting, as a glimpse into American political culture during this period (although Mencken is overtly snobbish and somewhat bigoted -- far from an objective observer -- and seems remarkably obtuse about some pretty obvious things).

[This turned out long-ish. For me, the most interesting passage is the last one I quoted actually, although I’m not really sure if any of my followers would be that interested in any of it and this is for my own note-keeping as much as anything else.

After living abroad for a while, I’ve become increasingly interested in what is unique about American culture and common American mentalities, and it’s interesting to see the following musing from a century ago:

It seems to me that this fear of ideas is a peculiarly democratic phenomenon, and that it is nowhere so horribly apparent as in the United States, perhaps the nearest approach to an actual democracy yet seen in the world. It was Americans who invented the curious doctrine that there is a body of doctrine in every department of thought that every good citizen is in duty bound to accept and cherish; it was Americans who invented the right-thinker. The fundamental concept, of course, was not original. The theologians embraced it centuries ago, and continue to embrace it to this day. It appeared on the political side in the Middle Ages, and survived in Russia into our time. But it is only in the United States that it has been extended to all departments of thought. It is only here that any novel idea, in any field of human relations, carries with it a burden of obnoxiousness, and is instantly challenged as mysteriously immoral by the great masses of right-thinking men. It is only here, so far as I have been able to make out, that there is a right way and a wrong way to think about the beverages one drinks with one’s meals, and the way children ought to be taught in the schools, and the manner in which foreign alliances should be negotiated, and what ought to be done about the Bolsheviki.

- from “Bayard vs. Lionheart”, July 26th, 1920

On President Harding’s inaugural address (this, like many other things, makes me wonder what Mencken would have made of Trump):

I rise to pay my small tribute to Dr. Harding. Setting aside a college professor or two and half a dozen dipsomaniacal newspaper reporters, he takes the first place in my Valhalla of literati. That is to say, he writes the worst English that I have ever encountered. It reminds me of a string of wet sponges; it reminds me of tattered washing on the line; it reminds me of stale bean-soup, of college yells, of dogs barking idiotically through endless nights. It is so bad that a sort of grandeur creeps into it. It drags itself out of the dark abysm (I was about to write abscess!) of pish, and crawls insanely up the topmost pinnacle of post. It is rumble and bumble. It is flap and doodle. It is balder and dash.

- from “Gamlielese”, March 7th, 1921

At the risk of being redundant, here is Mencken’s comment on the lack of defined policy differences between the two major parties as they existed in 1923:

Both [major political parties] have lost their old vitality, all their old reality; neither, as it stands today, is anything more than a huge and clumsy machine for cadging jobs. They do not carry living principles into their successive campaigns; they simply grab up anything that seems likely to make votes. The old distinctions between them have all faded out, and are now almost indiscernible. The Democrats are just as hot for centralization as the Republicans, and just as friendly towards a protective tariff; they stand together on the money question; there is no choice between them on the question of foreign policy; they are both wet and both dry.

The only reality that remains is their division on sectional lines. In the South the morons still vote the straight Democratic ticket. But even this brand begins to wear off. We have seen Maryland and Tennessee take to the fence; we have even seen some wobbling in Virginia and Texas. The time may come, and it may be soon, when the solid South will fall to pieces. Out of the wreck, I venture to believe, a new alignment of parties will come, and it will be based, not upon outworn traditions and shibboleths, but upon genuine differences of opinion. What those differences of opinion will be I do not risk prophecying, but it would not surprise me at all if one great party advocated the inspection and control of bootleggers by rigid Federal legislation, and the other, clinging to the tattered remains of local self-government, advocated licensing them by the commune.

- from “Next Year’s Struggle”, June 11th, 1923

Mencken’s (rather lofty and prejudiced) perception of cultural differences between rural and urban America and how they play into differing attitudes towards Prohibition (the Volstead Act):

Prohibition is essentially a yokel idea. It mirrors alike the farmer’s fear of himself and his envy of city men. Unable to drink at all without making a hog of himself, he naturally hates those who can. When a city man goes on a grand drunk, the police take charge of him humanely and he is restrained from doing any great damage. The worst that happens to him is that his wife beats him and he loses his job. But when a farmer succumbs to the jug his unmilked cows burst, his hogs and chickens starve, his pastor denounces him as an atheist (or even an Episcopalian), and he is ruined. Thus he favors Prohibition, especially if he is given to heavy drinking -- first because he hopes it will protect him against himself, and secondly because it harasses his superior and enemy, the city man...

I have never encountered a genuine city man, not obviously balmy, who was in favor of Prohibition. There seems to be something in the urban mentality that rebels against such imbecilities. Perhaps the fact is to be ascribed to familiarity with the police. The yokel, seeing policemen very seldom, retains a considerable fear of them, and a high respect for the laws behind them. But the city man takes the cops lightly, and the laws with them. He has no respect for laws as such; he respects them when they are useful and plausible. Such grotesque concoctions as the Volstead Act he knows to be neither.

The yokel’s answer to this sniffishness is that the city man is a scoundrel, and ought to be kept under restraint. His opposition to Prohibition, as the hedge pastors argue, is due to a consuming love of rum. But that argument quickly runs aground on the fact that the city man, despite the Eighteenth Amendment, still has all the rum he can consume. For he is not only contumacious; he is also ingenious, and knows how to beat laws that he dislikes. So the yokels and their spiritual advisers have to fall back on the doctrine that Prohibition is ordained of God, and is hence binding upon every good citizen, regardless of his private convictions. But the city man simply laughs at that. He observes that the chief agents of revelation are Methodist bishops, and that he has heard too much balderdash from them to have any confidence in them.

- from “Real Issues at Last”, July 23rd, 1928

Commentary on Herbert Hoover’s character just before his election, as I provided it in the comments section under the (very interesting) SSC post on Hoover:

The contrast [Al Smith] makes with his opponent is really appalling. Hoover stands at the opposite pole. He is a man of sharp intelligence, well schooled and familiar with the ways of the world, and more than once, in difficult situations, he has shown a shrewd competence, but where is character ought to be there is almost a blank. He is the perfect self-seeker, pushing and unconscionable; it is hard to imagine him balking at anything to get on. His principles are so vague that even his intimates seem unable to put them into words. He is an American who came within an inch of being an Englishman, a Republican who came within an inch of being a Democrat, a dry who came within an inch of being a wet. He is what is today because it has paid him well so far, and promises to pay still better hereafter.

- from “Al in the Free State”, October 29th, 1928

Now Mencken’s attempts to predict the results of the elections of 1932, in which he demonstrates how oblivious he was to the effects of the Great Depression on public sentiment:

That Dr. Hoover will be renominated by his party next year is as nearly certain as anything human can be, and that he will be reelected at the ensuing plebiscite is highly probable.

- from “The Hoover Bust”, May 18th, 1931

Barring acts of God of a revolting and unprecedented character, Mr. Hoover is almost as sure of reelection next year as he was of election in 1928... [Mencken argues in terms of several states that Hoover might lose but won’t need anyway.]

All this should be plain to anyone able to add and subtract. It is as obvious as that 2 and 2 equal 4.

- from “Hoover in 1932″, July 27th, 1931

Right before the election, Mencken finally recognized that Hoover was going to lose but seems to emphasize almost every other complaint against Hoover (particularly his acting on the wrong side of the Prohibition question) over his failure to cure the Depression:

My guess is that the thing which really finished the right hon. gentleman was his singularly disingenuous and unconvincing dealing with Prohibition.

- from “Pre-Mortem”, October 24th, 1932

I’ll end with the passage I found maybe the most interesting. Mencken had identified as a Democrat and enthusiastically voted Democrat in 1928 and 1932 (although he didn’t support the Democratic candidates in 1920 and 1924 and loathed the legendary Democrat William Jennings Bryan). But well before the end of FDR’s first term, he had turned against the president’s new-dealing ways. Here is an excerpt from his article on the eve of FDR’s reelection:

Nevertheless, and in spite of all Hell’s angels, I shall vote for the Hon. Mr. Landon tomorrow. To a lifelong Democrat, of course, it will be something of a wrench. But it seems to me that the choice is one that genuine Democrats are almost bound to make. On the one side are all the basic principles of their party, handed down from its first days and tried over and over again in the fires of experience; on the other side is a gallimaufry of transparent quackeries, puerile in theory and dangerous in practice. To vote Democratic this year it is necessary, by an unhappy irony, to vote for a Republican. But to vote with the party is to vote for a gang of mountebacks who are no more Democrats than a turkey buzzard is to an archangel.

This exchange of principles, with the party labels unchanged, is naturally confusing, abut it is certainly not so confusing that it goes unpenetrated. Plenty of Republicans who believe sincerely in a strong Federal Government are going to vote tomorrow for the Hon. Mr. Roosevelt, and plenty of Democrats who believe sincerely in the autonomy of the States and a rigid limitation of the Federal power are going to vote, as I shall, for the Hon. Mr. Landon. Whether the shift that confronts us will be be permanent remains to be seen. But while it lasts it is manifestly very real, and those who let party loyalties blind them to its reality will be voting very foolishly.

This is particularly interesting to me because it reflects an interpretation of the history of our political parties often claimed by Democrats: “The two parties switched places.” I’ve always been a little impatient with the simplistic way this is put (although of course it’s nowhere near as bad as Republicans, including the president, who love to imply that theirs is still the party of Lincoln out of one side of their mouths while idolizing Andrew Jackson, the founder of the Democratic party, out of the other). It’s not as though the parties one day just up and decided they wanted to switch names or switch positions. Mencken himself had pointed out in the early 20′s, in one of the passages I quoted further above, that there was little differentiating the two parties at the time apart from the demographic and geographic subgroups of Americans who formed their respective bases. Moreover, the Democratic party had been displaying somewhat of a fiscally progressive streak in the past few decades, arguably starting with William Jennings Bryan in 1896. (Although to be fair, the Republican party flirted with progressivism in a very big way thanks to Theodore Roosevelt, and none of this earlier progressivism looked that much like the revolution FDR was waging anyway.)

That said, if one had to point to a single turning point in history for Democrats and Republicans which played the greatest role in directing them towards where they are today, the early 30′s with FDR’s New Deal is probably the most reasonable choice, and Mencken’s above contemporary commentary is evidence supporting this.

#H L Mencken #american presidential politics #herbert hoover #fdr #william jennings bryan #indecision 1932 #indecision 1936 #alcoholism #Prohibition

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gugobewu11 · 5 years ago

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Greatest Wins in Next Three 2007 Bowl Games - Michigan, Southern California and Georgia - Part 6

Here are the following 3 champs of the current year's 2007 school football bowl game outcomes:

Capital One Bowl - Michigan Outlasts Florida, 41-35, as Lloyd Carr Wins His Last Game

In the event that the Michigan Wolverines had wrapped it up and put it under the tree, active mentor Lloyd Carr couldn't have gotten a superior Christmas present from his players as they defeated 4 turnovers to turn around No. 9 Florida, 41-35, in the Capital One Bowl.

The long-lasting, famous Michigan mentor declared his retirement after another misfortune to Ohio State in November. Had he not resigned, he would most likely have been approached to leave. Michigan employed Rich Rodriguez who dashed from his head instructing work at West Virginia to assume control over Michigan's celebrated football program.

The success was immense for Michigan's seniors as they won their first bowl game in quite a while. Chad Henne tossed for 373 yards and 3 touchdowns and Mike Hart hammered out 129 hurrying yards and 2 touchdowns.

The Gators held the game close gratitude to Michigan's 4 turnovers and a lot of huge plays by sophomore Heisman Trophy victor Tim Tebow and his fast partner Percy Harvin. Tebow was playing with a messed up bone in his non-tossing hand and was feeling the squeeze yet was as yet 17-of-33 for 154 yards and 3 touchdowns. He additionally ran for 57 yards and another score.

Harvin got 165 yards on 13 conveys (12.6 yards per convey), scored once, and furthermore got 9 goes for another 77 yards and a subsequent touchdown. At last, it was insufficient as Michigan won one for Carr.

The Gators neglected to change over a fourth down play at its 25-yard line and K. C. Lopata's 41-yard field objective put Michigan ahead 41-35 with just 2:21 remaining. Florida got another shot however Tebow tossed 4 straight air balls. Both Michigan and Florida completed the season with 9-4 imprints.

BCS Rose Bowl - Southern California Crushes Illinois, 49-17, to Make a Statement

Pete Carroll and his Southern Cal players despite everything are thinking BCS national title game, however the Trojans will need to trust that that will occur. They may have completed at 11-2, equivalent to Louisiana State that will play in the title game,how to open a slot machine business yet the Trojans lost at an inappropriate time to an inappropriate group Stanford at home.

In a presentation of dissatisfaction and distress, Southern Cal truly stepped Illinois 49-17 in the BCS Rose Bowl game to say something. First year recruit half back Joe "Where Do They Find These Guys?" McKnight tore through the Illini protection for 170 yards (125 yards hurrying and 45 yards accepting). McKnight's yield was a piece of the Trojans' 633 yards of offense.

The yield set a Rose Bowl record and the Trojans' 49 focuses tied the record. The victory game gave Southern Cal 11 successes for a remarkable sixth consecutive year. Illinois Coach Ron Zook still completed the year at 9-4, an incredible turnaround after a 2-19 record in his initial two years at Illinois.

Try not to be confounded here, Illinois was a 13.5 point dark horse going in. Recollect that it was Illinois which managed Ohio State its lone misfortune, 28-21, and the Buckeyes will confront LSU in the national title game. Caps off to Zook and his players for a mind blowing year.

BCS Sugar Bowl - Hawaii's Unbeaten Streak Ends as Georgia Wins Easily, 41-10

Georgia's Bulldogs were jumping frantic that they were not welcome to play in the BCS national title game, and Hawaii's Warriors were forced to bear their disappointment, losing 41-10 as their fantasy of an ideal season finished in the BCS Sugar Bowl.

Hawaii came into the game at 12-0, the main undefeated group among the NCAA's 119 Division 1A schools. They did it with mentor June Jones' run-and-shoot offense that found the middle value of 46+ focuses a game, the arm of junior quarterback Colt Brennan and some incredible beneficiaries.

Brennan is the genuine article. He has set more NCAA passing records than Carter has liver pills, however nothing appeared to intrigue Georgia, and particularly Marcus Howard, who turned into the game's MVP as he had 3 sacks, 2 constrained bobbles and a tipped ball that colleague Dannell Ellerbe caught.

Actually Georgia was just too large, excessively quick and unreasonably solid for the Islanders this time around.

Howard and his cautious mates lived in Hawaii's backfield as Brennan was sacked multiple times, tossed 3 block attempts and lost 2 mishandles, one of which Georgia recouped for a touchdown. Georgia's guarded line pushed Hawaii everywhere throughout the field; Brennan was fortunate to escape New Orleans perfectly healthy enough to be drafted for Sunday obligation in the NFL.

"It was the quickest group I've presumably ever observed," said Brennan. To be reasonable, they would not have been so quick in the Warrior hostile line had played better and given Brennan more security so Hawaii's offense could be compelling.

It was a decent yet troublesome game for Hawaii to swallow, however the Warriors will live to battle one more day. They needed to realize that their 12-0 record was against a lot more vulnerable rivalry than each different BCS group confronted. They had their way in the Western Athletic Conference, in any event, bringing down Boise State, which likewise lost its bowl game to humble East Carolina 41-38. Indeed, even the Washington Huskies, who had an important lead on Hawaii, couldn't beat the Warriors as their game finished with Hawaii on top.

The residents of Hawaii experienced passionate feelings for their Warriors and well they ought to have. Hawaii had a mark year. Different groups are presently attempting to take June Jones away from Hawaii. It merited the annihilation when you realize that Hawaii figures to make a $4 million payout for its appearance in the BCS Sugar Bowl. For a group whose selecting spending plan was an immaterial $50,000 every year, that is a great deal of moola. Hawaii would now be able to stand to enroll ability on the territory.

June Jones has become an open door for some different groups. His run-and-shoot offense has brought about a 76-41 record (64% win rate) in 9 seasons, including the current year's 12-1 imprint and BCS bowl appearance. Jones assumed control over a Hawaii group that was winless in 1998 and went 9-4 in his first season. Interpretation: You don't have to remain wakeful evenings appealing to God for Hawaii's prosperity; the Warriors and doing fine and dandy, bless your heart.

(Proofreader's Note: This is the sixth article of an arrangement on the 2007 bowl game outcomes.)

Ed Bagley's Blog Publishes Original Articles with Analysis and Commentary on 5 Subjects: Sports, Movie Reviews, Lessons in Life, Jobs and Careers, and Internet Marketing. I will probably illuminate, teach, amuse and rouse you the peruser.

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shepherd-tothestars · 3 years ago

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“Let not the salted words on a rock sway you. It doesn’t matter who left this here and what the message is really intended for. Likely those bandits again, a minor annoyance to be disregarded.”

#observations in the field ;; dash commentary #don't die alone out there. that's an order ;; cyllene

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the-owlchemist · 5 years ago

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He’s fondly remembering the days of his life where it being a good idea to drink a destruction god was not the hotly debated topic of the day.

#★ | Observations in the field ( Dash commentary )#★ | Chaos & Chemicals ( Mobian Verse )

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gearloosened · 5 years ago

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the downside of being time-displaced: not knowing who is dead and who’s still alive

#out of the laboratory | ooc #field observation in progress | dash commentary #DKGJDGDKJ CARTESIUS IS JUST LIKE WOOPS

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lovehaswonangelnumbers · 6 years ago

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New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/octobera-transformational-month/

October~A Transformational Month

By A Gift From Gaia

We have three meteor showers in October, it’s no wonder it’s a transformational month.

Tomorrow the Draconid shower peaks but we are already feeling the reverberations as most experience these showers as though they are being pebbled dashed.

The shower originates from comet 21P/Giacobini-Zinner and heads in from the constellation Draco hence the name Draconid and this constellation holds the energy of Saturn and Mars, energies we have become quite accustomed to this year and will all be Saturn surfers within the next couple of years as he dominates the incredible evolutionary shift we are moving into.

How this is experienced is always dependent on frequency however for those working their way through the layers of defunct programming, density, shadow, whichever word resonates, will find the thoughts and feelings seem to bubble up quite rapidly for seeing and clearing.

Known as the poisonous dragon these bubbles coming up have the ability to hold some of the most toxic programming, it’s a gift, it must be seen to be cleared, so whilst this could well be rather uncomfortable for many, deep dark thoughts, feeling and emotions rising this is super flushing for your field once you understand how to use this energy as intended.

There will be a number of awakening alarm clocks sounding, a number of people asking for help in their believed dark night of the soul, which….isn’t ….really….that…..the soul doesn’t have a dark night, it plays in light always, it is light frequency, this apparent dark night of the soul is simply your 3D shell cracking and the ego reacting in fear, but hey whilst this is happening and the human is freaking let’s be very aware that the inner child of those experiencing this is rejoicing, knowing the adult blind version is now getting ever closer to being able to heal that separation.

See how perspectives change….

Draconids brings up the poison, said to effect rivers and air, emotions and thoughts, which will mean gridkeepers will be going within to support the collective, for now, whilst our race is mostly resisting expansion and light this means we fully work from within assisting as what we find is the human resistance and working physically to align the field is most often met with defense, we find ourselves being guided within and work outside only when we feel the ability to work in the physical field is expansive. The twin flame within burning in unison means we receive the guidance and we act when required, immediately, or we are guided to observe and shift the frequency from within, expanding our field, or perhaps closing down fields which is an expansion for all concerned too.

The field of peace is where you will be of most assistance as we move through these reverberations, I have some recent videos on YouTube in which I talk of the importance of Earthing, being in nature and I guide you through connecting to the grid which will reset your frequency allowing you to see the distortions you have come to be accustomed to in your reality, everything experienced that isn’t holding the frequency of peace, of respect and responsibility is to fall away, our only question here is If not now, then when? Which highlights the power of choice and where we choose unconscious streams and feeds over conscious.

Knowing this you now have the ability to surf, to choose and to begin the process of aligning or stepping further into your alignment.

If you would like to see this shower which is most often rather impressive then before midnight (UK) is the best time, grab your yoga mat, face away from the moon into the darker areas of the night sky and lay back and watch, and why not take your shoes off and earth whilst you’re there!

Collective will be tetchy Light will be peaceful Mirrors abundant Fear rejects love/light….

Surf through the spectrum angels it’s all open and available, all we need do is figure it out within.

*****

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