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jurijurijurious · 4 years

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Walsibeth one shot

Soooo here’s that random one-shot ficlet I’ve been writing tonight instead of the actual fic. This fits in after the chapter of “Mea Culpa” I’m currently writing, of course, but it works as a one-shot; I don’t think I’ll include it, it’s an optional maybe extra? But maybe I’ll put it in there. I don’t know.

I haven’t done a thorough proof-read either because I should be in bed already and I have work tomorrow:

Elizabeth’s eyes moved across the folds of the heavy drapes surrounding her bed, moving across the dark recesses of one, over the lightened surface of the next, and then back into the deep dark of another. She heaved a deep sigh, groaned a little, and pressed her knuckles into her eyes. She had lain awake for hours now; sleep would not come and her mind buzzed, zipping through not only the day’s conversations and events, but back over the multiple strange and somewhat terrifying events of recent weeks. How she wished she could still those restless thoughts, that nagged and jeered and tormented her every waking hour. Her mind was a hive of malcontents that needed neither food nor rest, that dressed up and capered on a stage, playing back the day’s events before her mind’s eye until she was forced to tease out every error she might have made, every mistake, until she was misinterpreting every sigh, glance and hand gesture to the point of paranoia.

When would it all end? Had she always been like this? She could not recall.

Could she blame it on the child? That restless little thing that squirmed and writhed like an eel trapped within her body. The baby was making her chances at slumber ever more remote. Not only did its movements keep her awake, the novelty of feeling the child thrashing within had long ago lost its novelty; at present it only served to make her feel nauseous.

She thought that Francis’ unexpected visit earlier would have put her mind at ease, but that clearly had not alleviated her anxieties either. Appeased her desire, sated her proverbial appetite, but still left a gaping void, unanswered questions floating in a stagnant pool. Though his every visit stilled her heart, filled her with a transitory reassurance, as ever when she was left alone she wondered at her own naivety - for hadn’t he said right at the start, and had she not constantly reminded herself, that here was a man who could appear to love anyone? How could she ever know the secrets of his heart?

And yet she had to have faith in something. There must be some constant, some bastion of honour within the labyrinth of his psyche, a vestige of that mysterious manifestation with which she had fallen incoherently in love with; and which she knew in return had fallen absolutely in love with her too.

She raised her knees and curled her body on on itself as far as it was possible, hugging her belly, and scrunching her eyes tightly shut, stifling another groan - whether this was at the discomfort in her body, her inability to sleep, or the mired quandary in her mind, she did not know. All of a sudden, all she could see was that blasted bland mask of his face as he had left her at the door or her chambers, as she passed over the threshold into the care of her ladies, when she had asked him if he would stay the night. It was a long ride back to Barn Elms, or Seething Lane, wherever his chosen roost was for tonight; why should he not tarry?

His face had not moved, but if one looked close enough, into the black pits of his eyes, pupils dark as sloes, one could almost see the cogs and gears of that infernal mind turning and ticking, weighing up the probabilities, the risks, the necessities… No he had said, he could not stay. There was little in the way of human folly and spontaneity contained therein.

Or so she thought.

She heard the click of the chamber door and the bubble of her deep thought was burst. The feet on the floor were light, quick: Cat Ashley. She knew the rhythm of her friend’s gait like a well beloved song.

There was a shuffle at the drapery, a light tough of her arm to see if she was awake. She angled her head up, brow furrowed, blinking once, twice in the pale light that now trickled through the gap in the bed curtains from the small candle in Cat’s hand.

There were no words, just an exchange of glances. Cat was smiling, though it didn’t quite fill her eyes; she looked a little fretful, as if she felt that she was going against her better judgement, but at the same time she knew that she had simultaneously allowed so many slips in responsibility, and was growing so foolishly accustomed to the status quo, that she was ready to just let it all pass…

Thus it was no surprise that there, behind her, materialising out of the dark like a wraith, was Walsingham. When the candle light touched first his eyes, reflecting through the gloom at her like a couple of smouldering coals in a hearth, she felt her heart jump and her spirit begin to rise again.

Cat swallowed a sigh, turned to look at Francis, then back at her beloved Elizabeth. Maybe Cat did not approve of this, yet if the presence of this devil of a man was what would gift her Queen with rest and a transient sense of comfort, then who was she to withhold it? It spoke some volume to her that he had come back and trusted this little rendezvous to her. He would not have done this just a few months ago; but they were too far past the point of pretending nothing was happening between him and his monarch any more. If he had not Mrs Ashley’s trust, her soul, then none of them had any hope of succeeding in the uneasy enterprise that lay ahead.

Cat bowed herself out with a slow nod of her head, holding Elizabeth’s eyes for perhaps longer than was necessary - maybe so she could savour the overflowing sense of gladness and utter surprise that now filled her Queen’s gaze. When the door to the chamber clicked again lightly, gently, and the candle was gone too, there was just the Queen and her servant alone once more.

“You came back,” Elizabeth whispered, caught uneasily between feelings of apprehension and mitigation.

Francis smiled and shrugged his square shoulders at the same time. “Aye, madam,” he said.

“I could not sleep,” she said,

He nodded slowly as if to say ‘That is clear. You are still awake and it is very late’. And he then began to undress.

She watched him, not hungrily, just inquisitively. It occurred to her that there had never been any normality between them as an illicit couple, that there couldn’t be. She could not wake up next to him, break her fast with him, take a casual stroll with him, without there being either some business of state attached, or, at the other end of the scale, without it being a heady, lust-driven tryst.

When he climbed in next to her, calm, naked, unadorned, she remained sat up and looking him in the face. He looked back, his eyes making their customary quick little studies of her person, checking her every curve, line and angle.

“What are you doing here, Francis?” she asked so quietly, she was amazed he heard; wondered why she feared the question.

His hand cupped her chin, thumb stroked her skin, and he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her brow. “Because my lady needs me,” he murmured against her brow. “Now… sleep.”

She took his hand from her jawline, kissed the palm, then lay back down. It was strange how much more comfortable the bed felt now he was here, how sleep suddenly beckoned, and how soothing it was to have him here for no other reason than he wanted to be here; could there have been any other more irrefutable, unspoken testimony to his devotion?

And thus she felt safe enough to do that which she would not advocate anyone to do in daily life, and that was to turn her back on Walsingham; but it was not a slight, it was an invitation. As her swollen belly made sleep awkward, she found that she could only find any measure of comfort by laying on her side, curling herself around the pivoting point that was the bulge of her growing child. And in turn, as she settled, he in turn curled around her from behind, his head beside hers, his chest to her back, his pelvis to her buttocks. She could feel his steady breaths on her nape, his even heart beats against her body. And as his arm came over her and gently held her, she felt a small sense of joy within her that she had not happened upon before; a sense of belonging and being cherished for herself and herself alone. Even if it was just for one night, even if the façade would shatter on the morrow, at least she had this, perhaps the smallest but most genuine gift he could ever give her.

Her hand sought his, their fingers interlaced, and the squeeze she applied said more than any words they could utter to one another. And at last, exhausted both, Morpheus found them at last and they slept.

Maybe I’ll draw this, it’s mindless fluff material...

Edit: Link to the ficlet on the Walsiebth LJ group if you wanna comment/follow over there.

#walsibeth #historical nonsense #mea culpa fanfic #elizabeth 1998 fanfic #elizabeth 1998 #fanfic #walsingham/elizabeth

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themarginalthinker · 7 years

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Undertow

this is so late omg djlfsflnflF;m;a here, have some soulmates avien wingfic Jearmin indulgence. Read the first chapter here. Thank you!!!!

It had been clear skies and smooth winds for Jean, up until now. Totally fine and free.

He was following his star, the call, the music in his heart and embedded in his soul since his birth finally singing out. The lands below him had been simply more of the gentle rolls of hills and streams and and endless seas of treetops swaying on the breeze. It had been warm rainstorms with playful eddies of air to keep Jean on his proverbial toes. Crystal nights with the Hub in his sights and the correct star clusters at each wingtip to guide him onward - just like his flock had taught him.

The change had come like a slap to the face - worse - being knocked, as Jean was sure he was, somehow, impossibly - off course.

The storm hadn't appeared so...deadly from where it had lain broiling on the very distant horizon. Jean, still on his perch in the warm evening and watching the sunset fire streaming from behind those onyx clouds contemplated this development with blase mind. He munched idly on a ration of waybread, wondering how much longer he'd be traveling. Where the Calling would take him, and most of all, who he'd find at the end of all this. Why he was the one the Hub plucked up from his comfortable nest and decided to fling him across the wide world while the other merely had to deal with the weeks of anxiousness, feeling their other half draw ever nearer.

Jean sighed as he felt his hunger, as small as even that vital urge had become in the face of the Call these last few days, wane as these thoughts took root. Reiner had been near-inconsolable those last few days before Bert's arrival. He'd been fifteen, Jean a year his junior. Waiting in the topmost branches of his hometree, eyes always on the horizon day and night. Even if they knew what it was, how special Reiner was for being one of the few to experience this, his family worried. Not all who were chosen to journey succeeded. The result of a bond never properly made - severed before it was even begun and the toll that took on the one left alive...

Brow furrowing in obstinate determination, Jean tucked away the rest of the uneaten meal. He'd made it this far, with little if any problems. This may just be a quest he'd have little to report upon, a story too dull for flock-talk or festival stories to gussy up for fledglings, and he's...alright with that, he thinks. Sure, it was more exciting and captivating to hear tell of folk fighting off wvyrms - great flying scaled beasts, scourges of the air - or braving extreme elements to find their beloved, but Jean's come to realize just how close people telling those tales must have come to the edge of failing. Of leaving behind their destined, devastated mate forever without having even met them.

Jeans stood on the thin bow, looking out over the land defiantly, looking at the miasma lurking on the horizon and finally blotting out the last of the sunlight from the land. Staring at the world, and offering a simple challenge;

Try and stop me.

~~~

The sky was chaos incarnate.

Jean could barely right himself - at least, find a position in the air that might have been right-side up - before a fist of wind and rain and ice slapped him in another direction, stealing the breath from his pumping lungs. His wings felt useless, like an insect drowning pitifully in a puddle. Worse.

He didn't know where he was. He'd....he lost it. Somehow, impossibly, he'd lost his Call.

The storm had caught him with his guard dropped. Lingering always just far enough away Jean could keep a decent eye on what stars it was blotting out from the sky and how fast. It seemed in the blink of an eye though, like a predator just waiting for something to creep by - Jean being the unlucky candidate in this case - it had reveled itself a wild thing, uncaring, violent in how Jean was pulled right into it by hot, humid updrafts nothing escaped from. He'd been stupid....oh so stupid, and this was his punishment.

Trying to keep his wings close to his body so as the delicate feathers wouldn't be pulled from their shafts, and perhaps try dipping to a lower altitude to escape the heart of the storm, did little. The wind just found ways to curl under his wings and lift him back up into the mess, whether he liked it or not. Rain whipped at him, needle-like and blowing all directions. Jean was soaking and wind-burned, and there was an odd lightness to how he was tossed about. Although there was obviously more pressing matters to consider, he dreaded to think about how he may have lost one of his packs. Hopefully not his knife. If he made it out of this madness in one piece, he might still need it.

A sudden chilling gust grabbed up the avien once more, throwing his ragdoll body in another direction, his neck aching with the force. And again, it was all gone in an instant. Jean blinked both sets of eyelids at the conundrum when he was falling.

Sodden wings and clothing, limp in exhaustion, the air currents that had ensnared him only seconds earlier abandoning their prey like he'd never been there in the first place. Taking with them, of course, the one thing keeping him in the air at all. His head spun, or maybe that was just the world around him, a smear of bleak stormy grey and flashes of scudding white. Panic, panicpanicpanic Jean mind was consumed with his immobile body, unresponsive, unable to even save himself. He couldn't find - where - the song, the Call...

Jean's feathers were useless, and as if the gale had decided it wasn't truly done with him, a blast of freezing air whipped around him as he left the deadspace. It barely caught his wings - not enough to slow his downwards spiral but enough for him to realize that pain was still a constant.

The icy currents were little better then the squall that had spat him out. Suddenly his clothes weren't just wet, they were stiffening under the sudden change in temperature - his wingtips forming ice, creeping over the tiny barbs and fusing them together.

Jean couldn't think properly, couldn't even right himself anymore or concentrate above the growing din of absolute terror and pain in his head and heart. The ground shifted meters below him under the dark of the storm overhead, fluid and surreal. Jean thought he was surely going mad. It had been known to happen, old fliers who'd gotten sucked into the same mess Jean had just barely survived only for the power of the storm to drive them loopy. Even now, as the avien saw his death coming towards him, the flat hills swam in swirling waves -

Jean realized his mistake as the first breaker, white-capped and towing flows of ice with it glowing out of the darkness, narrowly skimming his primaries. He didn't have a moment to think of his new misfortune as he slid into darkness, lead waters seeing fit to send him into a new thrashing. Salty water flooded his mouth as Jean tried - for some reason, it was all useless now, he'd...lost - to find the surface.

Wings and feathers were hardly buoyant, however. Jean couldn't even feel his fingers or toes anymore, and his arms and legs burned from being on action for so long, the arctic waters serving only to sap what little energy he had left. Everything was so dark. Dark and cold, and songless; the waves all around him his only music now, beating the avien senseless in an uncaring tempo as he surfaced only to be struck down again...

He was giving up. He could feel it, starting in his dead wings and creeping like the numbness of the bottomless water down to his useless body. Jean felt his eyes sting, and in the endless mire of pain and fear, maybe he thought, he was crying.

Though, that could just be the salt and grit of the sea. It hurt either way. He'd never get to see their face. He'd never...never get to know their name, or who they were, or where they came from. He'd never get to hear the sound of their voice; marvel over the color of their eyes in the sunlight, or how their feathers shone under the moon.

He'd be leaving them, all alone.

That, perhaps, aside from the deathly water and his failing lungs and motionless limbs, dragged him down the most. He is...resigned. Jean can feeling it all leaving - no light in the darkness greets him as his eyes shut, and only ringing fills his head. Just the turbulence of the violent waves, the slowing pounding of his heart.

The lull of the surf is everywhere...a rhythm that Jean can't escape, can't help but listen to. Perhaps his fleeting consciousness is trying to sooth him in the end, and it works. If he wants to trick himself even more, believe his own painful fantasy, it's sort of like a song, in a way.

The voice of death singing him to his watery grave... Jean doesn't know what he feels first. He had been fading, chest heavy and mind almost gone. Just a mess of sensations and pain and cold, dark lonesomeness - and the sudden, blaring, all-consuming song so loud, cacophonous almost in it's clarity,

but there's - there's arms, and...movement? And, yes, air, cold, so cold and new and slapping his face and clothes and blowing away streams of water pouring out of the mess of feathers that were but a mockery of his wings on the briny sea winds. The hands - they had to be, though how he knew Jean couldn't tell you at the moment as detached as his body was from his mind - clawing at him, clutching, holding so tightly. Too much for the deathly pull of the waves, even. Jean thinks, chest aching, it felt like there was nothing that would keep him from those arms. They'd die for him, they'd kill for him...

He was rising...then dipping and rising again, the water wasn't there anymore? Jean couldn't open his eyes even if he had the strength, didn't dare...what if he saw his own corpse bobbing along down below like a broken twig? This had to be death, at last -

"-elp me! C'mon, I can't carry yo-"

...Death had an awfully young voice.

Something licked at the bottoms of Jean's feet, the waters from bellow roaring up again in their agitated waves under the still-raging storm above, the tongues of the ocean desperate for their stolen meal back but whatever force held Jean kept him from succumbing to their depths again. Something so tight around his chest and so warm against his back and in his ears and heart...

"-lease! Don't! You have to stay awa-"

It is no wonder the singing of the great Hub had stopped, Jean thinks slowly as the world begins to return to the blackness of the frozen ocean. It's voice had belonged to his savior all along.

~~~

Jean supposes it's indicative how close he was to slipping down death's throat, never mind being caught in it's jaws, when he rises back to consciousness after failing to realize he'd dropped from it in the first place.

There was no song, but his spirit was calm.

Warm...and pain. Fuck, it's as if his whole body was waiting for him to wake up to assault him with all the worst sensations it could possibly hope to feel. His wings ached worse then the first time his flight feathers were growing in as a child, and from the sudden bloom of stinging as he dared to try and twitch them, he knew he'd likely lost and broken more then a couple important quills. He didn't go more then a few breaths without weakly fighting the urge to cough against the stickiness his chest, which he gave into more the a couple of times. His head was splitting, his body felt weak and the tips of his fingers and toes were throbbing...

But he was...alive.

Alive and...warm, and burrowed in something incredibly heavy and soft and furry that tickled at his nose where it was pulled up under - enough to make him sneeze, suddenly.

And someone definitely not him give a small squeak of startlement.

"Ah! You're awake!"

Jean's eyelids grappled with their own weight as a surge of excitement and energy he knew he shouldn't possess at hearing a voice. The same voice the unknown arms from the sea sang as they carried him off. When he did manage to open his eyes, at first it was all blurred, a smear of colors like a child's painting across his vision.

Then it was...blue.

Bluer then a clear sky in the late autumn evening, bluer then the highest, oldest mountain ice.

Bluer then the ocean.

How young... Jean first wondered as he found himself lost in those bottomless eyes - well, that and he could feel the world around him spinning a little, so his staring probably wasn't total enamorment...and yet. He still couldn't draw himself away. He looked barely older then a boy, the honeygold hair hanging in mildly frazzled clumps framing his face and thin shoulders idly shifting long, soaring seabird wings behind him from where Jean was laid. And it seemed Jean was not the only one to be found taking too long of a first look.

Those eyes had been looking at him like a dry riverbed takes on water, quick and darting around and filled with an endless greed of want. Blinking, it seemed to break the spell, and magically, the stranger speaks again. How damn young, Jean idly muses again, though it is soon lost under the utter shine of hearing the bell of a voice.

"I...I was so frightened that you were gone...well. Not gone, but like - like, more sick then I could help. I'm not usually so good at these things, see. Healing people, and not from almost drowning, either. If you'd gotten anymore water in your chest, I don't think I'd have been able to....um... And you were like a deadweight all the way here, and I... I think you did stop breathing at some point..."

Jean watches with waning strength as the boy rambles, seeing a clawed, scaly hand much like his own reach up and start anxiously combing through his hair. Suddenly the boy must realize Jean's not able to pay much attention to much more then the comforting sound of his voice rather then what's actually being said, and with another admonishment against himself and some muttering, turns swiftly from the bedridden avien.

Jean can feel himself beginning to drift. It's like a balm to his core, just hearing the other whisper and fumble about wherever they are. The furs he's been veritably cocooned in feel like a physical weight pushing him back down with as much ease as the crushing depths of the ocean had rage. He lets his other senses tell him about what's going on - so long as he can hear that voice...

Woodsmoke, though it's different then he's ever smelled before. Something he can't put a name to within it, reminding him of the scent of the storm and the sea. Herbs, strong and spicy and mellow. The pop and hiss of droplets of something on coals from a banked fire and more muttering and fluttering. A small chill blew through Jean's hair, the tiny draft whistling a little windy moan as it passed. Jean wondered what aery they might be roosted in...A very gentle clinking pricked Jean's attention for a moment, enough to force his eyes open one more time as the shushing of feathers not his own drew near again, along with a salty, fishy smell.

"It's just broth. I can help you sit up if you need, but you need to eat something before you go back to sleep."

The sick avien wasn't sure if he totally conveyed his acceptance around his sluggish movements and through the thick furs, but the boy must have seen a 'yes' in all the tiny jerk of his head, and soon the world was tilting again, and after a long, nauseating moment of vertigo his kind shouldn't have to know, Jean was resting against a wall behind him with the soup pressed to his lips by gentle hands.

Trying to use his own required coordination Jean didn't possess at current, so Jean let himself be nursed like a downed nestling. The broth was thin but oily, bits of minced fish and bitter greens slipped past and filled him more then he figured such a small bowl would have. In the middle sometime, the stranger switched it out for another of cool, cold water, and Jean was forced to heed his warnings for Jean to take it slow when he almost choked at the laugh in that voice.

When he was finished, Jean leaned heavily against the wall, and gave the boy before him a long look with eyes burning for more rest.

It was killing him. He needed sleep, and time, and to trust this person - his person, which he had finally found after nearly stumbling into Darkness for.

But he had to know, also.

"Wh-" the first sound Jean had made aside from his wayward sneeze what felt like forever ago eeked out painfully, and coated with the gunk still in his chest, but with a dreadful cough which shook his poor body, he managed a full sentence.

"Whass....what's your nayme.. 'Mm...Jean.."

If he were in much better shape of mind he might have winced at the slurring, but another, rather frazzled part of him reminded him he did almost very nearly drown, and he was lucky to have breath to speak at all.

The stranger just gazed down at him for a few puzzling seconds, looking for all the world like he'd never heard another person's name before, or had no idea what a name was...then he smiled. Smiled like sunlight on snow...

"Jean...that's a nice name. I think I've dreamed about that before..." he said, airily, as if he suddenly lost the conviction of his own words. Though, even in his state and feeling like he couldn't actually rest until the boy, his beloved, his Hub in the heavens told him his name there was something about hearing his own fall off those pale lips.

Reaching back up with some of that now-nearly-familiar anxiousness coming back, the threaded his dark talons through his long hair and ducked his head. "I'm Armin. And...I suppose you're the call that's sung to me every night now, huh?"

The sky was silent and empty, for all Jean's starsongs were here.

#my writing #aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #armin ar #jean kirschstein #jearmin #fanfiction #twoshot #wingfic #wings #people with wings #harpies

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j0sgomez-blog · 5 years

Photo

Dawn at Quiet Lake in Idaho’s Cecil D. Andrus-White Clouds Wilderness, created in 2015.

By Michael Lanza

How’s it feel to be a conservationist in America today? Does it feel like people who want the government to protect the environment—which is a large majority of Americans—suddenly find themselves losing a war that it seemed we had already won?

These are strange and frustrating times for conservation. We have to wonder: How could so many Americans believe that climate science is bogus—or even a “hoax,” as a certain world leader calls it? How could so many of our countrymen and women applaud as the current White House takes an axe to the agency created four decades ago to protect the very environment we live in? Or buy into the corrupt notion that ceding control of our prized public lands to private interests could, in any way, be in our public interest?

And where do we go from here?

Somewhere along the line, logic got turned on its head. We need to stand it upright again—and we can.

The Bears Ears buttes in Bears Ears National Monument, which President Trump shrank by 85 percent.

The good news is that while we are, in many ways, mired in a war for the future not only of conservation but for the nation’s values—not to mention human civilization—environmentalists do have a much larger army than the opposition. Gallup reported in March 2018 that “62 percent of Americans say government is doing too little on the environment,” the highest that number has been since 2006.

The same poll found overwhelming majorities want more public investment in renewable energy, higher pollution and auto-emissions standards, and stronger enforcement of environmental regulations. Seven in 10 Americans believe climate change is happening and six in 10 want the government to do something about it.

Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Subscribe now to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.

But the anti-environmental movement is very well funded—with the climate-change misinformation campaign led by the fossil-fuel industry and related special interests—and has massed its troops in elected positions from Congress to state capitols and local offices.

They are dismantling the protections created over decades to ensure that Americans can breathe clean air and drink clean water, and protect endangered species. They are working to undermine the international effort to combat climate change. They are abetted in their self-serving scheme by a president who embraces no ideology beyond self-aggrandizement, and who has mastered the dark art of sowing division and discord through stoking the fires of fear and hate—all in the service of increasing his own profit and power. And he is enabled by a congressional majority willing to deploy un-American tactics to achieve their goals, like actively preventing some citizens from voting, and extreme gerrymandering of districts so that politicians get to select their voters rather than the other way around.

Lower Yellowstone Falls in the world’s first national park, Yellowstone.

Among many moves to roll back progress on climate change, the Trump administration has taken steps to allow increased emissions of methane—one of the most powerful greenhouse gases—to weaken car pollution rules, and to let states set their own rules on coal emissions (or no rules at all). The administration hires ex-lawyers and lobbyists for polluting industries to regulate those industries—the proverbial fox guarding the henhouse. Trump’s Interior Department under Director Ryan Zinke has rescinded an Obama-era policy requiring that national parks management be based in science.

This NY Times story lists 76 environmental rules Trump is throwing out, and concludes: “All told, the Trump administration’s environmental rollbacks could lead to at least 80,000 extra deaths per decade and cause respiratory problems for more than one million people.” That story goes on to quote a Harvard expert saying that number is likely to be “a major underestimate of the global public health impact.”

This is what an all-out war on the environment looks like. It’s enough to really piss you off, right?

Climate change constitutes, literally and figuratively, a steadily rising tide that threatens to overwhelm civilization. The science not only continues to affirm this reality, it strongly suggests that we are on a faster trajectory toward increasingly severe consequences than previously thought.

Read about how climate change is affecting our national parks in my book Before They’re Gone—A Family’s Year-Long Quest to Explore America’s Most Endangered National Parks.

Backpackers hiking through a burned forest in Glacier National Park. Climate change has made wildfires larger and more numerous.

The U.N. Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change warned recently that we have until 2030 to slash carbon emissions by 45 percent, and until 2050 to eliminate all carbon emissions. Otherwise, we condemn our children, grandchildren, and generations for centuries to life on a planet undergoing catastrophic climate change.

Many of us followed a long path through the outdoors that led us into conservation. We are motivated by a love of hiking, climbing, fishing, backpacking, skiing, paddling, hunting, birding, and other pastimes that have given us some of the most inspirational and joyful moments in our lives. Pull back the covers on the phrase “conservation movement” and you simply find people who share simple, common values: protecting places in nature that give us a rejuvenating connection to our humanity, and maintaining a world environment in which humans can thrive and live healthy lives.

History will recall this era as a dark time when some leaders showed a ruthless and shameless willingness to destroy the planetary environment that sustains life as humans have always known it.

But we have the opportunity to ultimately record this period as the time that the conservation movement became reinvigorated and rose to the challenges we face today. Many organizations and individuals are engaged and committed to this mission. The technology exists to accomplish this; we need only the political will, and that begins with each of us.

Here are some ideas for getting back on the right track.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures. Subscribe now and get full access to all stories!

Backpackers on Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.

No. 1 Vote in Every Election

Voting represents the bare minimum effort we are all asked to make as citizens of what has been and could still be—if we’re ready to save it—the nation that leads the free world.

Voting is not a big ask. It’s not a heavy lift. In fact, we should all participate in the democratic process more deeply than merely voting.

The Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.

We should certainly seek to inform ourselves thoroughly through a variety of legitimate sources in the media and elsewhere. Knowledge and accurate information offer the best protection against the demagogues, charlatans, and liars who employ today’s vast array of communication tools to foment the fear, intolerance, and hate that seem to motivate so many voters now. We don’t need impenetrable walls along our borders—we need virtual windows onto our entire world, through which we can see everything more clearly.

Just as we have a choice in how we drive a vehicle—we can drive it intelligently and with care and caution, or steer it over a cliff—we can use the infinite resources available at our fingertips today to make ourselves better-informed citizens, rather than pawns of the purveyors of misinformation.

But voting is step one on the stairway of democracy. And yet, millions of Americans do not vote—they do not contribute the bare minimum effort as a member of a democracy. Some, including young people and populations already marginalized, only vote occasionally, typically in presidential elections, skipping mid-terms that determine the crucial makeup of Congress and key state offices.

Think of it this way: There are 10 houses on your street, but only the owners of six of them make all the rules for the neighborhood, including how much you each pay to live there (and they charge others more than they charge themselves), because the owners of four houses don’t vote.

Sound like a good system?

If not, then get out and vote and urge everyone you know to do the same—especially anyone who’s never voted or does rarely, including young people. Tell anyone who complains about the cynicism in politics that they have the power to do something about it, beginning with their vote. If everyone eligible voter in America cast a ballot in every election, we’d be well on our way to having a functional democracy.

Plan your next backpacking adventure in Yosemite, Grand Teton and other parks using my expert e-guides.

Sahale Glacier Camp in North Cascades National Park, one of my 25 favorite backcountry campsites.

No. 2 Choose to Live More Sustainably

Yes, it sometimes seems the solutions to climate change and other environmental problems lie far beyond our reach as individuals. But we can all do more to reduce personal waste and consumption, and that exerts a positive collective impact.

We can make choices about lifestyle and family and work circumstances that affect our waste and consumption. A few examples of many possible steps include reducing car trips and driving an economical vehicle, being more careful about electricity and water use, buying food grown and produced as close to your home as possible and planting a vegetable garden, recycling and reusing, and composting home organic waste. Larger steps like improving house insulation and converting to solar create expense up front but pay off over the long term.

The Center for Biological Diversity lists these 12 ways to live more sustainably, but you can easily find much more information on that subject. Some actions are big and costly, others have long-term, significant impacts and save you money.

But the best news about living more sustainably? Instead of making you pissed off, it can make you happier and healthier and improve your life. When I gave my wife a cruiser bicycle for Christmas a few years ago, her attitude toward biking rather than driving local trips swung 180 degrees. Now we frequently ride into town, which creates time together that’s far more enjoyable than driving in traffic and searching for parking—not to mention far better for our community.

Backpackers on the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

No. 3 Get Off Your Butt

Actions speak louder than bitching on Facebook. If you’re truly pissed off, do something.

Volunteer for and donate to political candidates and campaigns you like and respect, who you believe can help our world—or your little part of it—rather than harm it. Or even run for office and be an agent for change.

Find organizations that do work you support and offer them your time and resources. Join a board; many groups are desperate for intelligent, committed volunteers who bring a variety of expertise to the table. I’m no genius, but for years I’ve served on volunteer boards and committees working on protecting and managing conservation and recreation lands, improving public education (smarter kids make smarter voters and citizens), and electing pro-conservation politicians. (I’m on the board of Conservation Voters for Idaho, which has resounding success electing green candidates in a very red state and deserves your support.)

Step up. You might be surprised at how many people would love to have whatever you can give.

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Backpackers in Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, which Trump cut in half.

No. 4 Do What Jesus or Muhammad or Buddha Would Do

Religious leaders are increasingly joining the rising chorus of people who believe the world’s governments have a moral duty to protect the environment and take aggressive action to limit the severity of climate change.

In September 2017, Pope Francis and Orthodox Christian leader Patriarch Bartholomew called for a collective response from world leaders to climate change, saying the planet was deteriorating and vulnerable people were the first to be affected. Other religious organizations are investing directly in projects that protect the planet, such as renewable energy, sustainable agriculture, and forest protection.

As well they should. Jesus said, “For what shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world, and suffer the loss of his soul?” The Prophet Muhammad said, “Conduct yourself in this world as if you are here to stay forever.” The Buddha said, “I do not believe in a fate that falls on men however they act; but I do believe in a fate that falls on them unless they act.”

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips” and “The 20 Best National Park Dayhikes.”

Bighorn sheep in Glacier. Click photo for 10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.

No. 5 Please, Don’t Give Up or Give In

It’s easy to feel defeated. It’s hard to make things better. And it’s not enough to just be pissed off. Consider how much is at stake. I’m reminded of that every day when I look at my kids.

There are many reasons to be optimistic for our future. I’m encouraged by the efforts of politicians at the state and local levels and businesses committed to a sensible future in an economy built upon clean energy—the only future. California has committed to meeting 100 percent of its energy needs by 2045. Thousands of cities, regional governments, investors, and corporations have pledged to reduce their carbon footprint, motivated in large part by Trump’s decision to pull the United States out of the international Paris climate change agreement.

I am encouraged by the energy, intelligence, and determination of today’s young people. They don’t wallow in fear and despair. They aren’t mourning the planet’s future and lamenting that climate change seems so gigantic and daunting a problem that any action feels futile. They are acting. They are educating themselves. They are demanding leadership.

Larch trees reflected in Rainbow Lake, in Washington’s North Cascades.

But those of us in the generations now running the show—who are responsible for much of this problem—have to hand them the tools to help them complete the most important work humanity has ever faced. We have to give them a fighting chance.

If we fail to right our ship, then we will deserve it when today’s children look at us in the fast-approaching future, as the oceans drown cities and starvation and political instability spawn refugee waves unlike anything we’ve ever seen in history, and ask, “What were you thinking?”

I’m reminded of three quotes that speak to the time we live in now. The first has been described as an Aboriginal proverb but also attributed to various sources: “We do not inherit the planet from our ancestors, we borrow it from our grandchildren.”

The second is a quote that has been attributed to the Irish philosopher, statesman, and parliamentarian Edmund Burke: “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.”

Finally, we might all find inspiration in the words written by a young girl while she suffered through the worst evil the world has ever known. Anne Frank famously wrote: “It’s a wonder I haven’t abandoned all my ideals, they seem so absurd and impractical. Yet I cling to them because I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart.”

We have no other choice. We cannot fail, because failure now means giving up on hope.

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons below, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

Read about one great American adventure that’s possible today because of the conservation movement in my story “Why Conservation Matters: Rafting the Green River’s Gates of Lodore.”

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hopelesslyheadoverheelsinhate · 6 years

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Reading by the flickering candlelight, our withered, forsaken protagonist sighs softly to himself, bemused by a thought he cant recall if he'd had. "Hmmmmm.... hmm? Hehe. Well, shit. Where the hell am I... oh, right, that." The weary adventurer takes in the surroundings of this dank dark underground, suddenly recalling whether he had recalled what was to be... recollected? No that wasnt right. No matter. Once again perplexed by the goings on of the... Ah! Yes. Of course. The letter. The pen, the candle, the unholy altar unto the dark lord which was to bring about the end of days, yes it was all there. He'd been scrawling some sort of babble onto a rather odd piece of parchment. Although clearly the unintelligible ravings of a madman to the uninitiated observer, the intricacy and detail in which the many similarly penned manifestos littering his abode managed to effortlessly and extravagantly convey absolutely nothing in particular was in fact ineffably astounding. The myriad of anomalous metaphors contained therein were, although perhaps frivolous, as the convoluted codex found in the precariously stacked etchings could not be readily decoded by anyone but the creatrix, who is clearly well beyond the proverbial veil, engrossed in the fog if thou wilt, although not nearly to the degree in which their forebearer Fraetre Cobaltus had been enveloped, the chronicling of which can of course be seen in their harrowing missives. Again the author had become immersed in her own wordvomit, unaware of how much time had passed whilst enthralled by the mere act of spewing out text for no discernible reason. Upon realizing their muse had once again grown weary and retired, they vowed to wrap it up, as it were, and launch the lengthy passages through the world pipe to be delivered to a perplexed individual, who shall not possibly find a single viable reason to . . . care. Now satisfied with these ridiculous ramblings, this pale, shambling cretin briefly reflects, ostensibly perplexed at what had transpired, before mailing the long awaited text to a certain tired child, who was sure to be vexed upon arrival. Gambling apprehensively with what was to come next, surprisingly less than wired, it surmised that something must be wrong. Every muscle flexed and became mired down suddenly, disconcertingly hexed with atrophy. Aloof with deprivation, and now gripped in agony, I am tripped by the proof quite clear of just how dire this situation might appear. Before you retire, we ingest a just-brewed batch of more crude tea, down the hatch, desired effects soon to manifest, hopefully.

#tweakerliterature

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glowingstill · 6 years

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Why I Keep Writing about Intimacy

I write because I care about Intimacy

These past few weeks have been interesting to me looking back. Sometimes, I love to be a helicopter in life. I float myself up above the noise and crowds. The daily grind, endless scheduling demands, hormonal fluctuations, kids fighting…yeah, I’m sure you’re just as tired as I am reading all of my assignments and thinking of your own as well.

Life gets to be like that. So mired down with what has to be done NOW, that it is easy to forget the why of what we are doing. Or, even, what are we supposed to be doing. As a writer, I get stuck some days. What should I say? What words of hope do I want to communicate?

When I stop looking at the here and now and look at my life from the helicopter view, suddenly things start to come into focus. The goal is viewable again. My heading is clear. And now I know what to write.

The writer’s block is gone.

In November of 2017, I started this blog with one overarching goal in mind. I wanted to help couples with intimacy. The proverbial elephant in the room. Everyone knows its there. No one wants to talk about it. Shrouded in mystery and silence, the elephant walks freely around. Bumping into everything it comes into contact with. Painful bumps.

Arguments that last long into the night. Feelings hurt so deeply one wonders if they can recover from it. Forgiveness and healing seem as reachable as the moon.

Arguments can often be traced back to a few things in marriage.

Miscommunication, Money, and Marital Intimacy. The first two are easy to talk about in retrospect. Financial courses, a good accountant, budgeting classes, and even Dave Ramsey have great advice. Lessons of learning how to talk and communicate to each other can be easily acquired.

Read also: 5 Rules of Texting to Increase Your Communication in Marriage

But then, the elephant starts to swing his weight around…reminding every person there of the last detail. Intimacy. “Shhh. Don’t speak of it. And if you do,” the elephant so firmly reminds everyone “make sure you only speak of it in the negative way.” The quick way to remember this is the three Don’ts. Don’t think that. Don’t wear that. Don’t say that.

It would be easy to think that I am writing from a deserted island point of view. But these past months of writing has taught that this is so far from the truth. I learn so much from other Christian writers that I want to share the many things that have meant so much to me. Please click on their links, read the full post for yourself, and learn even more.

Lessons of Modesty

While lessons of modesty, proper and pure thoughts, using our words to glorify a Holy God are extremely important (please note, I am not discounting or slighting these in the least, they are very important) the scale must be balanced.

Balancing the scale of intimacy is very difficult. The balancing of pure thoughts in marriage is not an impure thought. Neither is the balance of modesty going to be to visit a nude beach. Holiness is not balanced by sin.

Sheila Gregoire nailed it when she wrote “Reader Question: Why do you Focus so Much on Steamy Sex?”

Flirting with your husband, or drawing attention to a certain part of your body in front of your husband, is not being “dirty” nor is it emphasizing the physical over the other aspects of sex. It’s emphasizing the emotional connection, too, because my husband is the only one who is allowed to see this side of me. So when I do that, it cements our friendship because it’s like a little secret.

The balance is found in Christ and the Bible. It is learning when and where these things are acceptable. When can you have sensual thoughts about your spouse? When can you wear those lacy items, silk boxers…or nothing at all AND IT BE OK?!?!?

And they were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not ashamed. Genesis 2:25

Adam and Eve saw each other totally. Completely. Nothing hiding. And God said it was very good. Clothing was not ‘invented’ until after the fall of man and Adam and Eve sewed fig leaves together to hide from God. In marriage, it is appropriate for the clothing to be removed (in an appropriate setting) because God wants the husband and wife to see each other for who they really are and be deeply ok with that.

How about touch?

It’s a touchy (pun intended) subject no matter how much we want to change it. Everyone is different. Some people are huggy-feeling. Others are touch-me-not. Learning where can you touch, and how should you do it transformed my marriage. So many hurt feelings and shame and fear kept the intimacy between my husband and me at a stale level. Touch is my love language (the spark in my steps, the secret key to my deepest emotions), and admitting that to myself and finally being able to share that intimate secret with my husband has transformed our marriage for the better.

Stuart Tutt summed it up perfectly when he wrote From a Porn Scene Mentality to Intimacy With Your Wife.

Take the time to actually get to know every inch of your spouse’s body. Touch every part and kiss every part…all the while with your eyes open to see her reactions. If she twitches or moans remember that spot and come back to it. Take your time.

Seeing a Christian man write about things such as this was completely refreshing. It’s not just me who is trying to tell people this is so important. Reading a man’s viewpoint of intimacy that honors the woman without pushing his “manly weight” around is a rare find.

The Mirrored Reflection

The view that women have of themselves is hard. Hard is not the right word. But it sums up what I cannot. We’re presented day after day size 0 models, paper thin, who are the models of beauty and sexiness. Plus models start at a size 8 or 10. Promises of a new diet, pill, workout program or Spanx clothing to hide it all help to a point, but at the end of the day, women are struggling.

Without the right view of how we appear and look, it is easy to carry this into the bedroom and into intimacy. Suddenly the fears of I’m not pretty enough, or I’m not sexy are screaming in our ears.

Pure Couples so elegantly wrote about this when she wrote Help! I Don’t Enjoy Sex Anymore

“Changing hormone levels and dryness also just makes us feel less sexier. When I had our kids, and my husband wanted to have sex, all I could think about was how unsexy I looked with milk leaking from my boobs, C-section scar, and stomach pouch.”

As I read those words, I knew the exact moment of my life that she was talking about. The view I held of myself was one of ‘who would want to be romantic with me when I look like this?‘ No one would be my answer, but God says differently. He says to me in Jeremiah 33:3 “I have loved thee with an everlasting love.” God does not look at my external beauty and decide whether or not he wants to love me today. He chooses His love based upon the finished work of Calvary. I am His forever!!

The Elephant named “STRUGGLE.”

I love reading other bloggers. They can say things so much more eloquently than me. Their words echo the sentiments of my heart, and I just wish my fingers could somehow equal up to that. Such was the case when I read Julie Sibert’s post titled Sex Isn’t Everything in Marriage…BUT

Sex isn’t everything in marriage. Where this becomes a dangerous slippery slope, though, is when “sex isn’t everything in marriage” drifts into “sex is nothing in our marriage.” Nothing to pursue. Nothing to make time for. Nothing sacred. Nothing to mutually value and enjoy.

What God designed as a non-negotiable becomes heavily negotiated. The occasional “not tonight” becomes the regular “Not tomorrow night either. Or the night after that.”

As I wrote in the earlier paragraphs, life is about balance. Swinging one way to the right or left does no one any real good. However, the balance between sex and intimacy, again as I wrote, requires real honesty. As Julie wrote, it’s easy to sneakily try and push the pendulum away. Sex becomes an act or a chore. A duty. An obligation. Relegating the magnificent act of intimacy to the level of a chore is demeaning of what God created. We are pushing His creation to a level that is wrong.

Julie continues her post with a “kind nudge” not an “all-out assault on [the] status quo” to really think about what kind of intimacy a couple is having. Is the intimacy your home experiences one that brings you closer to each other and God?

This question is not at all intended to be blasphemous or flippant. It is a valid question and one that must be answered. In answer to the statement, Sex isn’t EVERYTHING in a marriage, Julie continues by saying.

BUT I do know that whenever I have heard “sex isn’t everything in marriage,” it has come from the lips of someone eager to justify not only their lack of interest in sex, but also their unwillingness to admit there may be sexual struggles.

Regardless of our ability to admit to the struggles, if they are there…you know it. You know exactly where it is right now. It is easy to not have that desire for intimacy and hide the pains that you are facing. The bitter arguments and the bile all start arriving in the back of your throat. The deep hurt flares your anger and your tears all at once. And it can be too much for any reader reading this.

So what can be done? Why bring all of this up. Wouldn’t it be better for everyone to just let “sleeping dogs lie”?

The short answer is no. The struggles of marriage will keep coming up, bumping, hurting and eventually destroy your marriage.

So, why do I keep writing about intimacy?

God ordained this act, and He calls it honorable. Marital Intimacy is a gift from God.

The husband and wife relationship mirrors what God wants to do in my heart through prayer and Bible reading.

Sin distorted (changed for the worse) the view of the body. The body was designed by God and mirrors His image.

God is the Great Physician. He is the only one who can provide healing in a marriage.

I keep writing about intimacy because I care.

I care for your marriage. I saw how deep the hurts can go when I don’t have the proper view of myself hurts the intimacy that a husband and wife can have. I know the freezing coldness of touch when I’m trying to pretend everything is “just ok.” The confusion about modesty and letting your spouse see you is difficult to make the transition and you feel right about it.

I keep writing about marriage and intimacy because I want your marriage to be that shining beacon of light and hope to a world who only sees darkness. #intimacy #marriage Click To Tweet

I keep writing about marriage and intimacy because I want your marriage to be that shining beacon of light and hope to a world who only sees darkness.

Matthew 5:14, 16 states, You are the LIGHT of the world…[so] Let your let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.”

But for you to shine, you have to be complete. You can’t be smudged with the weight of the world and guilt of failure in your marriage.

You have to shine. You have to clean the glass, remove the hurt. Be honest in your love for your spouse and with God.

When you do this. Your light will shine so brightly, others will see it and know that you are Glowing Still.

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#marriage #life lessons #personal development

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