It’s been a wolfish morning. And I mean, literally.
Not so long ago, the Bloke accidentally broke my wolf mug, which is my preferred vessel for my holy morning cuppa. So off I went, looking for a replacement, only to discover that the purveyors of all things witchy were fresh out of wolves. So, owl came home with me instead. Not too shabby. And this morning I thought to myself, “perhaps wolf, who has stuck with me so faithfully for all these years, is done with me”.
And then, an hour after thinking this, I’m in the cafe amongst the great old oaks and the cockatoos, and I’m drawn to a new painting on the wall that’s for sale. I can’t tell what it’s a painting of, because I’m as short-sighted as f***, and I don’t have my glasses with me. So I stumble across the room, and it’s a painting of a beautiful wolf, with 3 hares leaping behind her. And I’m in love. Instantly. And I want that painting in a bone-deep, knowing kind of way.* But that painting is not in my budget.
So, I go for a walk, and as I’m rounding a bend by the park, a massive old malamute appears abruptly right in front of me, so that we nearly collide. And she is amiable and grinning as she takes her frail, elderly owner for walk. Her face is strikingly wolf-like.
I walk onwards towards home, through the forest of mountain ash giants, listening to this music; and at the bottom of my steep driveway something glints in the sun, and I spot a bottle that wasn’t there yesterday. I pick it up to dispose of it, and…you know what comes next, (yes – it’s getting ridiculous). This, to be precise.
So perhaps wolf hasn’t quite finished with me yet.
Now onward. Linkies…
‘Tolstoy Blows’. I know how to whinge about the faults of the Academy, but when it comes to books and book reviews, there’s nothing like the Internet. Because the ability to read seems to plant all manner of delusions in the minds of keyboard beaters the world over. One such insidious delusion is that said ability to read results in having opinions worth sharing. This is not so, good people of goodreads and amazon. I’m thinking of countless examples, but most of all the “reviews” that absolutely shred a book and its author to pieces. The reviewer, all scrappy and with overweening confidence in their opinion, proceeds to make outlandish claims about the story, as well as assumptions about the author’s intentions. Then ends it all with, “so I’m not ever going to read this book, ever, ever”. Praise be for free speech. It would be nice if we used it more wisely.
Speaking of book reviews, here’s one for The Silvered Heart, by Katherine Clements which I’m excited to start reading. Looks to be a ripping yarn.
More short films: on Open Culture, (check out all their free films!) Poe’s classic, Fall of the House of Usher, turned into a 1928 Avant Garde Film, scripted by the poet e.e. cummings. And did you know that the current Doctor Who, (Peter Capaldi) is an Oscar winning film maker? The strange and wonderful Franz Kafka it’s a Wonderful Life.
These pretty moon phase bracelets on etsy. Yes please.
Best wishes to you for a bright and happy weekend. xx
*Art and music and stories affect us this way, non? They call to us, they change us, and wash their songs and colours through us, finding their home within us as they are made flesh.