A Couple Human Observations from Disney World

A Thirsty Lion from Disney's Coronado Springs

We interrupt our regularly scheduled blog silence for a couple of random observations.

1. Disney has an attraction in Magic Kingdom based on Monsters, Inc. It simulates a comedy club. As part of the act, a camera captures members of the audience and incorporates them into the show. I was fascinated to see that the Disney folks tended to pick out mean or odd looking people to poke fun at, and cute people to interact with the characters. I guess even in Disney with its egalitarian message, human interactions based on appearance still carry the day, albeit more subtly.

2. Someone has commissioned a skywriting pilot to sketch out brief religious messages in the sky.

Love is a weird word, isn't it? So many meanings.
I prefer the Latin caritas for the religious context.

My reaction is probably opposite to many folks. I respect whoever is behind the skywriting, not for the message, but because it’s a private activity completely within the rights and power of individuals. Where I do have a problem is when people take power that isn't theirs to deliver a religious message. Examples? Public school teachers preaching during school time. Mayors putting up displays on public grounds. Tax dollars being spent on religious messages. For some reason, many people don't see the distinction.

But to the skywriters, I say, smoke on!

Okay folks, that's all for now. Hope you are doing well.

As you were.

Night Drive

It's movie time!!

My last foray into multimedia fiction was The Passions of Bryn: Requiem. Interestingly, when I was talking about that piece with Aine, she thought she remembered visuals. There aren't any. It's amazing how powerful the joining of mere words and music can be. The sum of adding one medium to another is greater than its parts.

This one goes one step further. (Okay, maybe two steps.) This time, with the help of award-winning cinematographer, Aine Evans, we're joining fiction, music, sound effects, video, and stills. Have you ever driven in the night and found your mind wandering to faraway times? Sit back, settle in, and hit the road for Night Drive.

Silent Night

It's middle of the night, and the Evans clan is heading to the airport to catch a flight to Disney World for a week long trip. Folks who were around last year may remember our escapades during our last visit with Mickey and friends. What trouble can we get into this time?! We shall see.

Aine and I will miss you while we're gone! We'll probably stop in and say hi, though, so it isn't all bad. And we're not going to leave you empty handed.

We have a special post for you this week. We worked on it all last week so it would be ready. There hasn't been a post here like it for quite some time. Look for it on Tuesday!

Also, if you don't already know, longtime blogging friend and writer, Jaye Wells, has been offered a three book deal for her Sabina Kane urban fantasy series. It's awesome beyond words to see the hard work of one of our own so greatly rewarded. If you haven't stopped over to congratulate her, please do! Her novel was sparked by her entry in the Clarity of Night Lonely Moon contest, which was ridiculously competitive. How cool is that?? She scored an honorable mention in a field of 100 entries.

Be well, everyone. And behave while we're gone.

Tunguska, Part 4 (fictionalized history)

(In 1908, the last major Earth impact from an asteroid or comet occurred in the unpopulated expanse of eastern Siberia. 830 square miles of boreal forests were leveled. In this latest fictionalized history series, we travel back to 1908 to experience the "Tunguska Event." Prior series: X-ray Martyrs and Westinghoused.)

Just joining us? Go back to Part 1.

Picture of the Tunguska Blast Zone
Taken by the Kulik Expedition

London, England
8 Time Zones West of Tunguska
After 11:00 p.m.


"This is kind of boring," she said.

"Boring? Working for Professor Chewning is the best job on campus."

She rested her head on the table.

He gestured his responsibilities with his hands. "Once in a while, you check the instrument array. Then, you check the electricity over there. You check to make sure the recorders are working. The rest of time, you do whatever you want. I get paid to do my class work!"

She yawned.

"Plus," he said, smiling suggestively, "there's no one around."

A door clicked shut somewhere in the building beneath them.

She shot up.

"Relax," he said. "It's just the janitor."

"He can catch us just as easily as someone else!"

"Relax."

"Easy for you to say. If the Headmistress catches me sneaking back in, I'm finished."

"Well, I could sneak over to your college instead," he said.

"Please. That would be so much worse."

"Oh, I've heard the stories," he said. "Those old ladies love catching the boys. They use all sort of creative punishments."

"Don't be foul," she said.

A devilish spark gleamed in his eyes.

"Kiss me," he said.

She pulled away. "No!"

"Close your eyes, then."

"No!"

"Go on," he said. "I want to whisper a story to you."

"How stupid do you think I am?"

He stared. Daring her. And one thing she couldn't ignore was a dare. She closed her eyes, and her skin felt fluttery as she waited.

But nothing happened.

She opened her eyes to see him fixed on one of the nearby instruments.

"Oh, that was magical," she said.

"This is the microbarograph," he said, pointing.

"Fascinating. But this is the girl."

"Weird," he said.

"Pardon me?"

Perturbed, she moved closer to see the pen drawing a sharp peak on the paper.

He tapped the instrument.

Nothing changed.

"I've never seen anything like that," he said.

"So. Maybe a thunderstorm is coming."

"Weather changes wouldn't do this. It's way too sharp and quick. This is a pressure spike. A big one."

"What would cause it?" she said.

"I don't know. An explosion maybe."

"But I didn't hear anything."

"Neither did I."

She yawned again. Her interest was waning. "Maybe I should go. I'm getting nervous about being gone this long."

He looked up.

"No. Wait. Don't go. Not yet."

She started arranging her things. He watched her hands for a few moments.

"You're really beautiful," he said.

"That's not going to work."

"Like a painting."

She reached for her shawl.

"And the smooth skin on your neck," he said. "Right here."

He moved to kiss it.

"Stop!"

She struggled a little, but relented when he poked at her and made her giggle.

"Are you ticklish?" he said.

"No," she said.

"I think you are."

He moved in again, and she curled into herself.

"See!" he said.

She shook her head at him. Why did he have to have such beautiful eyes?

Maybe it wasn't time to leave after all.

He was getting closer, and she let her lips begin to part.

"Wait a second," he said, diving back to the instrument.

"Now what!"

"I just thought of something." He checked his watch.

"Fabulous." Now, she was exasperated.

"If I'm right, it should be...."

He hovered over the slow rolling graph.

"I don't believe this," she said.

The pen swept up.

Smaller, but still a clear spike.

"See!" he said.

"Hey," she said, her voice changing. "It happened again. How did you know?"

"Something big happened. That's what I think. Something really big just happened on the Earth."

"How far away?"

"Who knows," he said. "Maybe the other side of the globe."

"Really?"

"I think we just saw a blast wave circle around the planet. The first spike was it's first trip. We just saw it come around again."

"The same blast wave?"

"Yes," he said. "And if it's big enough, we'll see it again. And again."

"Oh my God. Should we tell someone?"

"Not much we can do now. I'll show the Professor in the morning," he said.

"We should watch the newspapers for clues."

"Great idea!" he said. "And we should contact some other universities to see if they recorded something."

She pulled her chair closer.

Her heart was beating harder.

"You know what I think?" she said.

And they talked until dawn painted the long row of windows.


Back to Part 3.

Soft Ground

Across the pasture, they stepped into the shadows of the barn.

"Oh my God," he said. "This is so cool. I can't believe you grew up here."

"Why?" she said.

He touched the whitewashed stone and picked up some dust. He brushed the color from his fingertips onto his pants.

"I don't know. I see more you in the city. Like hanging out in coffee shops. Maybe going to an open-mike poetry night some evening."

She turned a switch, and a string of dirty bulbs pushed the twilight from the stalls.

"Did you do chores?" he said.

"Yes. Especially in here."

She stood by a post where an old, cracked halter hung from a nail. She turned the leather over in her hand.

"I took care of my horse," she said. "And the other animals."

"You didn't tell me you had a horse."

"His name was Tobacco," she said.

"You're kidding."

She laughed a little and leaned on the rail. "No. When I was little, we used to drive to Georgia to visit my Aunt. I loved looking at the fields and the tobacco barns. I thought it was kind of romantic. I didn't know any different."

"It's a cute name."

Standing back, he imagined a dark horse in the stall. It's rippled shoulders and large, black eyes.

Over her shoulder, the sparse snow glowed blue in the failing light.

"I haven't thought about that in years," she said quietly.

"College will do that to you, I guess. Going home is strange for me too."

Her gaze seemed to fall somewhere far away.

"I used to ride in the night," she said. "Even in the snow. My father yelled at me, but finally he gave up."

He wanted to lay a hand on her back, but hesitated.

"I used to say things to Tobacco," she said. "I used to think he was listening to me. Understanding me."

"What kinds of things?"

But she didn't answer.

His attention drifted again to the snow. In spring, the ground would be soft and rich. The prints of his boots might sink deep.

Turning back, he realized she was staring at him now.

Before he could speak, she kissed him with a quick kiss.

"Let's go," she said.

Outside in the new night, their footsteps crunched crystal castles sprouted from the ground. As she pressed against him, he caught the whispering presence of spring.


(Photo taken this weekend with the new lens. I love the unpredictable results of twilight photography, and the inevitable challenges.)

Party Week

Church Lady is hosting a party!

When she's not locking horns with Satan and all his mischievous minions, Church Lady's blog is definitely a social hot spot. This time, Evil Editor is the guest of honor (God help him). This Thursday, January 24th, Evil Editor's book, Novel Deviations 3 will be released.

That means one thing. Par-tay!

A little known fact is that Evil Editor is especially fond of petting zoos. Here, he's feeling like a bit of a jackass for forgetting to bring quarters for the feed dispenser.



Just outside the frame, a ram is lining up on that tender behind. I could share that shot, but I'm feeling merciful this morning! (But seriously, ain't that donkey cute??)

In the meantime, we can play a little party game. Using the next letter in the alphabet, give us a little random memory sparked by that letter. I'll start with the letter "A" in the comments.

Tunguska, Part 3 (fictionalized history)

(In 1908, the last major Earth impact from an asteroid or comet occurred in the unpopulated expanse of eastern Siberia. 830 square miles of boreal forests were leveled. In this latest fictionalized history series, we travel back to 1908 to experience the "Tunguska Event." Prior series: X-ray Martyrs and Westinghoused.)

Just joining us? Go back to Part 1.

Cottage from the Kulik Expedition to Study the Tunguska Event
In the Vicinity of Vanavara

Vanavara, Russia
40 Miles from the Epicenter


The woman folded her hands against her body and tried to breathe quietly. Despite the noises in the distance and rattle in his chest, the baby still slept after she laid him in the cradle.

She joined her husband outside the doorway.

"What's going on?" she whispered.

"It sounds like artillery," he said. "I think the war has started."

She closed her eyes.

The weight pushed her too close to the floor. The pain of childbirth. Perpetual days. An unhealthy child. But she couldn't stand any taller.

"He's asleep?" he said.

"For now."

Another boom. The window in the room rattled.

Both looked to the crib.

When the whine uncurled from the blankets, she would have cried if she had any tears left for herself.

Another artillery blast. Much closer.

And a higher sound. Wind gusting down the mountain slopes.

"I'll go see," he said.

She returned to the crib and looked down at the little scarlet face.

Brilliant light flashed in the window.

Instinct dropped her body over the child.

The window glass shattered.

Little bees stung her face, and her shriek was ripped away by the whirlwind.

* * *

Down from the cottage by the lake, a fisherman knelt by a boat. As his half-finished knot dangled in his fingers, tendrils of smoke cascaded down from the sky.

Movement drew his attention to the house.

The young father stepped out. An ashen cloud billowed down the last slope of mountain.

The wind hit him.

The fisherman saw him fly, and twist, and disappear in the dust.

The same front swallowed the far shore and barreled forward. The fisherman moved to stand on weakened legs. His skin felt numb and electric.

A black wave raced toward him.

Higher.

Higher.

Hurricane wind blasted him, followed by the crush of breaking water.


On to Part 4.
Back to Part 2.

Aurora

Watercolors in the window
Behind glass
I never chose
Or piano notes
Splashing
Drip from the mirage

Fearful storms
Haunt the horizons
Where satellites flicker
In cosmic winds

Saturn is turning

Please come swim with me
In the aurora borealis

Tunguska, Part 2 (fictionalized history)

(In 1908, the last major Earth impact from an asteroid or comet occurred in the unpopulated expanse of eastern Siberia. 830 square miles of boreal forests were leveled. In this latest fictionalized history series, we travel back to 1908 to experience the "Tunguska Event." Prior series: X-ray Martyrs and Westinghoused.)

Irkutsk Geomagnetic Observatory

Irkutsk, Russia
550 Miles Away


The young man sat on the weathered chair and unlaced his boots. Mud prints layered one over another near the door. The early summer ground was soggy and miserable.

In his dry work shoes, he walked through to the great room. Outside the windows, wires strung on crooked poles far down a cut in the forest.

He checked the instruments.

Magnetometer. Seismograph. Ambient temperature.

He opened the logbook and yawned.

He shut it again and leaned back in the squeaky chair.

At least the mice were active at night. Tiny eyes flashing in lamplight. Nothing moved now. His breaths sounded loud and distracting in the quiet.

It made him feel weak to start so early, but he went to the back of the obsolete equipment cabinet and pulled out a bottle of vodka. Back in the squeaky chair, he drank and pulled an envelope from his pocket. The paper was stained with a corner worn through.

Inside, the letter was eleven months old. That's how long it took. The cities in the west were so very far away.

His eyes jumped on words like stepping stones over deep water.

His sister.

Fever.

Bedridden and wasting.

Asking for him.

Was she long dead by now? Was she buried with her grave already grown over?

He reached for the bottle and a bigger drink, but drew his fingers back. The Vodka rattled on the tabletop.

Metal tinkled in the cabinets.

His stomach quivered from a vibration traveling up his legs from the floor.

He wheeled over to the seismograph.

The needle stabbed high peaks on the paper.

An earthquake.

A significant earthquake.

He watched the ink squiggle, then slowly diminish to a quiet line.

Nearby, the magnetometer line dove.

He paged open the logbook and began to write.


On to Part 3.
Back to Part 1.

January Harvest

Now this is unprecedented.

This carrot was picked yesterday in southeastern Pennsylvania, which is about 40 degrees North latitude.

Yes, that's right. A January harvest. And it was good too.

Seriously weird.* I have a voicemail in to Al Gore.

There is another January harvest of sorts I wanted to share. A new addition to the Clarity of Night family:

This is something I've been salivating over, and my birthday was a good excuse to splurge. It's a revolutionary lens by Nikon that offers extreme focal length range (18 to 200mm) with good optics and a vibration reduction system. It's going to make a difference here, because I can be far more flexible in my framing of shots. The ability to go from wide angle to substantial zoom is awesome.

It's not lost on me that photography is the quiet anchor of this blog. I take it for granted, which is kind of crazy, but it's such a nice creative outlet that it doesn't feel like work. Which brings me to a question. Do you ever want to discuss photography issues here? (I'm thinking not, but what the heck, I'll ask.)

Here's a Photography 101 hint of the day. Always buy a UV filter to fit any new lens. By leaving one on permantently, you not only get the beneficial effects of the filter (less "haze" in distant landscape shots), but if you accidently damage the front the lens, you don't have to be put on suicide watch. You've only destroyed an inexpensive filter, not the lens itself.


(*You may be wondering why such a lovely carrot was not picked at a proper harvest time. The answer, my friends, lies in the epic Groundhog Wars of 2007. You see, during a bitter, brutal, and frankly personal struggle, an entire crop of carrots was stunted by the periodic nipping of two naughty groundhogs. But, as you can see, we had the last laugh, because apparently September to January is now a viable growing season in our area.)

Tunguska, Part 1 (fictionalized history)

(In 1908, the last major Earth impact from an asteroid or comet occurred in the unpopulated expanse of eastern Siberia. 830 square miles of boreal forests were leveled. In this latest fictionalized history series, we travel back to 1908 to experience the "Tunguska Event." Prior series: X-ray Martyrs and Westinghoused.)

A Choum
Traditional Home of the Evenki
Reindeer Herders of Eastern Siberia

June 30, 1908
Krasnoyarsk Krai, Russia
7:10 a.m.


Smoke from the cooking fire billowed from the top of the choum. The acrid, white clouds filtered through the pines and disappeared into a deep water sky.

The Evenki tribesman emerged in the morning sunlight.

He cracked branches with leathery, bronze hands. Behind him, meat simmered in a blackened pot. The moist heat brushed away the chill clinging to the shadows.

In the near distance, his reindeer herd bleated.

His splintering hands paused, and he turned an ear to the southeast.

The deep voice of thunder carried from the far mountains.

*******

Lake Baikal, Russia
7:12 a.m.


The woman plunged her hands into the ice blade waters.

She churned the stained cloth and ground it against rocks. As she stood and wrung, the vast waters of the lake stretched to the horizon. The last mirror of ice had broken. Vast depths brooded in slow indigo waves.

She turned towards home with her bucket of fresh water.

But stopped at the sound of birds. Flocks upon flocks beating their wings above the trees.

She looked up, expecting to see them black in a migrating river.

She winced.

Dropped the bucket and sloshed water onto her legs.

High overhead, a second sun trailed a column of light and clouds.

Like the trunk of a great tree, it stretched towards the northwest.

*******

Krasnoyarsk Krai
7:14 a.m.


The thunder rumbled a second time.

That brought the sound of birds.

The man backed against the choum.

The sky was clear. It was an evil omen to hear thunder birds away from a storm.

Another sharp rumble.

Louder.

Closer.

The bird wings beat faster.

A boom reverberated in the Earth.

Over the trees, the sky filled with light.

And the entire world ignited.

Pine needles smoked. The reindeer moss covering the forest burned.

The man pulled at his searing clothes to save his skin.

The wind swooped down. Breaking. Smashing.

The roar swept up the man and his choum.

Its talons tossed him into the living grasp of the trees.


On to Part 2.

Primordial Day Today

Before the armored fishes flashed in the deep...



Before the first trees climbed to dominion over the land of ferns...



Before the collision of continents wrinkled mountains, and their drift embraced the seas...



...tiny life swam in the primordial warm waters.

And there they still swim today.


(Photo series of an amoeba moving and feeding in bacteria rich water. Our daughter is doing a science fair project on the succession of life in tap water with some dead grass thrown in. This is day five. 400x magnification.)

Capricorn

One more candle to blow
Flickering
Then out
        S
          m
            o
          k
        i
          n
          g
Too small to smear
Warm wax on fingers

But while the candles flame
A multitude of company
I want to touch each
And contemplate the burn

So
Strike a match
To populate the darkness of birth
Blow them out
A celebration singed
One by one
By
One

Simplicity: Touch

(Third in a series of vignettes exploring the basic needs of human life. Prior needs: Shelter, Light.)


The crowds threaded through each other across the expanse of the station. The sound flowed like an undercurrent. Voices and sharp footfalls.

"Thanks for giving me a ride today," she said.

"No trouble," he said. "Hey, what are neighbors for, right?"

She smiled. "Yeah."

The numbers and names on the train board spun.

The clicking sound was quaint. The dials turned and turned, then stopped one after another like a giant slot machine.

He struggled to find something good to say. "You got everything?"

"Yeah."

"You travel light."

"No use carrying much. I shipped almost everything."

He half caught a toddler who bounced into his legs and directed him off towards his mother. "Are you looking forward to staying at your parents' while you get set up in Chicago?"

"No. Not really."

"I don't blame you. Wouldn't want to stay with mine either."

He looked down at the suitcase scuffs on the floor.

He always had trouble enduring her eyes. Bumping into her in the hall outside his apartment was cool. She was kind of quiet. Always listening. Something in the way she looked at him make him fumble for the doorknob, though.

The schedule board flipped again.

"Oh, hey, did you--"

A voice erupted in the huge expanse. The echoes of marble and grand archways crisscrossed and mixed.

The train to Chicago was boarding.

"That's me," she said.

"Okay. Yeah."

"Thanks again."

"Oh, anytime," he said. Of course there wouldn't be a next time. What a stupid thing to say.

She glanced over at the platform stairs and the people converging.

His heart was pounding.

"I'm sorry to see you go," he said.

"Me too."

Those same eyes looked back at him. This time, he had nothing to lose.

For once, she broke away.

He moved to offer his hand, but hesitated.

She took a half step too, then laughed.

"We're pretty pathetic," she said.

"Yes, we are."

An attendant unhooked the red rope, and heads drifted down the escalator. People pressed tighter.

No more time.

The shock of their hug didn't register. He simply felt the high points of her shape. Her weight. Her undeniable presence.

He sank into them. And she squeezed tighter.

That feeling burned into him.

Then, she was away. Her steps hurried to the escalator.

Before he remembered to breathe, she was gone.