A little cold weather has revived this Lazarus. I’ve let August, September, and most of October slip past without a post to the Tent Show. But I’ve been feeling the urge, or the demiurge. XueMotL, Lord of Blogs, as I dubbed the tutelary deity, back in 2003 when this immaterial tent was pitched at the now defunct Salonblogs (it’s pronounced “shoe-motel” by the way), is not done with me yet. Him, and His sister, Meta. I am called to testify, pilgrims and seekers, to offer once again Dr. Omed’s Patented Oil of Prosody, salve if not salvation, the motion in the lotion, and not by my will, but by the will of He Who Bloggers Fear, Dread XueMotL, Smiter of Trolls, that disreputable old poltroongeist. I’ll just keep typing until the Pentecostal tongues of fire ignite the keyboard.
There was frost on the grass this morning, the first frost of the declining year. I was glad of it; a chill wind always blows me some good. It gets me right in the nobody. It slays the Nobodaddy with his gimcrack apocalypses. Jack Frost’s first nip on the nose cheers me right up. The days are shorter, there’s enough night now. Rime gilds the fallen leaves that still burn with dead light: