Pic of the day: People around here are kind of like elves, they like to build their homes and roads and stuff in between trees. Sometimes it is impossible to say whether a particular area is forest or suburb, as it is really something inbetween. Can't say I don't understand it too.
As I took a walk today, I could feel my body hurting in places I had not even thought of. It did not worry me in the least. Quite the opposite, it is as it should be. I have worn my body as an armor, and in the heat of battle you do not stop to check whether your armor is chipped or dented. So have my days been facing the onslaught of an unwelcome duty, and my evenings spent just as frantically running into my worlds of escape. Like the infamous dwarf in PvP who knew his armor was badly in need of repair, but still spent all his money on ale and whores. Now ale and whores are not my favorite means of escape, though I'm sure they do the job nicely; I prefer fantasy worlds. And I was willing to pay the price of that escape and delay the upkeep of my body.
But now I have retreated for a brief while. The war must go on without me. I have chosen the better part of valor: To live to fight again another day.
How beautiful is the world! And especially in spring, of course. I wish my pictures could also convey the underlying life that suffuses the very ground. As I looked around, I was strongly reminded of The Land in Stephen Donaldson's first trilogy about Thomas Covenant, especially "Lord Foul's Bane". The people there had a sixth sense that let them see the "health" in all things (except in the main character). The Land was brimming with "Earthpower", some things more and other less. Those who mastered even a little of the Lore of the Land could harness some of that power. Even common people knew how to draw some health from things in The Land.
Perhaps I can also draw some health from the land. It is certainly worth a try. After all, it is the same life pulsing in the first few butterflies' wings and in my heart. It is the same life that slowly burns in the cells of the daffodils and my own body. We were made by one and the same creative force, whatever name you assign to it (or prefer not to).
I did not bring a headphone and no digital music this time. The birds brought their own music. They are analog, but so am I. I can live with that, for the time being.
Sunny and pleasant warm day.
Visit the Diary Farm for the older diaries I've put out to pasture.