It's been a week since the spamming/hijacking fiasco. I haven't had any time to stop back here and think about whether or not I like this new template, and that's probably just how it's going to be until I'm used to it. I wonder how long til I stop being shocked when I first open the page. It's like getting a new hair-style and for weeks startling yourself when you walk past a mirror. Is that me?
I meant to write my own piece on WHIMSY. I do love that word. I was all set to do it on Saturday but got lost in a long porch conversation under a full moon instead, and we lamented at summer slipping away as a chill rose up.
You all told some wonderful stories with it though. Some macabre, some delightfully twisted, some sweet, some comically tragic. My pick is Robin Hawke, who said, "I've discovered flash fiction likes to bite":
After weeks of rain, mushrooms appeared everywhere. Glowing fairy circles sprouted across the lawn, but only one was a complete ring. Neighboring mushrooms were red and brown and purple and yellow. They were flat and round, domed and furled. The large ones looked like umbrellas for toads; the small ones mosques for insects.
Their magical overnight appearance was their only whimsy. A close look revealed spongy, sodden flesh. It took several hours to take pictures and make notations. After returning with plastic bags and rubber gloves, I filed each one away, wondering which woodsy taste would make the best poison.
See, this is why you never marry a naturalist. When you get boring, or old, or cranky, they know how to kill you without leaving an online trail.
I spent the afternoon yesterday poking around my favorite local used bookstore - honestly one of the best used bookstores I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. Two floors, two whole floors of books and oddities. Sometimes I never want to leave.
On my lap is a biography of Katherine Anne Porter, which of course I bought. The word from that book is: