Oh, good, the house is still there. Let's move on, shall we?
More of those delightful, whimsical fungi.
Our point of departure, the head of the path. She's not kidding about the fairies.
Just inside the treeline, we start down to the pond. See that thing in the middle of the path?
Please don't eat the giant, friendly, magic mushrooms- they were a birthday gift from Mum's brother and Sister-in-Law, and she adores them - the 'shrooms and the family members. Also, they are metal and would chip your teeth.
"Only the dead have seen an end to war." - Plato
Edit - I wrote the following as a response to someone else's memorial post, and I decided I wanted to place it here, too:
The place where they once stood reminds me of the child who, struck in the face by the schoolyard bully, has lost his two front teeth. It's an obscene and violent emptiness that demands filling, demands something to remedy that wrongness, that absence of once-present substance.
Whenever I see the skyline, I feel that empty place keenly, and I don't even live there.
I keep hoping that from the ashes, the phoenix will rise; all these years later, it isn't triumph I see, but division, sorrow, anger, and confusion swirling in a quagmire of indecision, derision, and the constant tug-of-war of "remember" versus "forget".
Shade and Sweetwater,
K (who wept when they fell, and prayed as hard as ever she did that the people had gotten out - because anything else was too horrible to contemplate)