I serenaded the moon tonight. It was full and bright, and so pale, but a clean pale. No clouds marred the dark dark blue of the sky, silvered by the light Luna was putting out in surprisingly high wattage. None but the brightest stars could show their faces in the moon's wake. The night air was cool but not cold, just a bit of a nip to it, and laden with the scent of the ocean and the sand. Somehow, the moon managed to be right smack in front of me most of the drive home after work, and when the road straightened out, I wasn't merely rolling down the highway, I was on the road to the moon. Companionably, I started singing, the radio and I giving our best duet of Proud Mary. I love that there is no orange glow obscuring the sky and the horizon and the stars, no competition for starshine and moonglow. No skyscrapers to fight with oak and cypress and mountainline in the distance. I can see again. Breathe again. I don't think I've mentioned how much that soothes me, how that aspect of being back I don't regret at all.

Also, my parents are back from their roadtrip early, having gotten in last night. They had an overall good time, saw the Grand Canyon and the Painted Desert, ate at a place whose heavenly prime rib they lovingly described to me just to make me drool, and did much sundry other things, in between leaving here and visiting Brad's sister in Kentucky. So, while I'm glad they're back, *sigh* I was just getting used to being able to sit down and use the computer whenever the whim struck me. Like for writing. I felt like doing so when I got home tonight, but Brad was playing online poker, and then my muse got tired of waiting around. Even so, I've managed to coax her back to work a little more on "The Fragile Walls" though mostly editing and some revision/expansion. Also worked a bit on another short I'll post once the first draft is done, "Fruit from the Tree". Minotaur story. More on that another time.

Also, I'm thinking of joining a band. A specific one, not just the idle wishing I've been doing for a while now. Time to go buy some reeds and get my chops back in shape.

Been back home now for a day or so, and getting settled in. You would think that there wouldn't be much to settle, but evidently since his girlfriend was over for a few days, me madre put the sibling in my room. Even my cat wouldn't sleep on the bed until I'd suitably rearranged things. Mmrrm. I suppose it's the territoriality in me coming out.

In this world there's a whole lot of trouble, baby,
in this world there's a whole lot of pain.
In this world there's a whole lot of trouble,
but a whole lot of ground to gain.

I had to settle mentally as well - while I was without computer access, of course, those sub-sentients set off all those bombs in London. Both sad and angry and now worried, I could only once more marvel at the callousness of fanaticism, even as the details were examined, trying to determine if the group who claimed responsibility for the deed was, in fact, actually the ones who did it. Much like copycat criminals, I find the thought that someone would yell 'I did it' over something like this, and not really be the one to do so, incomprehensible. The act itself is beyond reprehension, and yet, to someone little further up the evolutionary ladder than a garden slug, the loss of innocent lives and the snuffing of joy is supposed to convince the world that their idea of heaven and deity is the correct one. Someone wants to be associated with this? *shakes head* For all my family's faults and failings, and even my own, I can't help but think of those who have lost their kin. I know I'd be beyond angry if someone took mine from me like that. *rubs eyes* But then, I suppose that's just another spoke on the same wheel, that kind of rage. But where I am imagining, someone is suffering it - and I can't forget that somewhere, someone is weeping from that loss, hands balling into tight and angry grief. It makes me feel sick to know that among us are people who can do this, take that life, and not only not feel remorse but even feel righteous over something so... there are no words for the terrible deed. None bad enough. None strong enough. None sad enough.

Why take when you could be giving?
Why watch as the world goes by?
There's a whole lot of life to be living,
why walk when you can fly?

I was relieved on my return to find the folks I was worried about just fine, and either not present in London yet, or "Didn't get blown up. Me win." *chuckles* Which I was very glad to discover. Catching up with everyone, or at least those posts on livejournal, I was heartened to see most were positive, and the few that weren't, were at least not alarming. I'll take the small joys of those around me, or whom I care for. It's amazing what the smiles and laughter and wit of your friends can combat, when it comes to darkening moods. It makes me glad to have you all, that's for certain.

In this world there's a whole lot of sorrow,
in this world, there's a whole lot of shame.
In this world, there's a whole lot of sorrow,
but a whole lot of ground to gain.

Politics makes me so effing furious, though, in between bouts of despair. I make no secret that this administration was responsible for turning me from a moderate Republican into a moderate Democrat (and my lord, wasn't I a rare beast on the other side of that fence - or at least it felt like it sometimes). The loss of the wilderness preserve to mollify oil moguls, and the undoing of so much by the Bush regime... makes me grind my teeth and feel helpless, no matter what I vote for, or against. I also mourn the loss of one of those people on the Supreme Court I felt actually did a damn good job, and dread who will fill that chair. Wish you'd stuck around, Madame Sandra Day O'Connor, but you've earned your rest, lord knows. Perhaps that's why I like world-building so much. Or species building, as it were. I can actually change things in my own mind. :P It's also probably why some of my worlds are too idyllic - not enough conflict or the grime to be real. But hell, we get our full dose of reality everywhere. It's my world and I'll escape if I want to. *chortles ruefully*

Why spend your whole life wishing?
Wanting and wondering why,
it's a hard enough life to be living,
why walk when you can fly?

So, the folks are going to be away for a couple weeks, going to visit my stepfather's family over in Kentucky. Road tripping it, no less. *grins* They left the day after I got back, leaving me in charge of house, cats, dog, lovebird, and (too many damn) plants to water. My mother has a green thumb, and there are... more than twenty... green and flowering things that have a schedule of watering. I didn't inherit that gift. I just hope they don't die when I poke them. They are pretty though. Always did like wildflowers. I like not-so-wild flowers too. As long as I don't have to spend an hour watering them, I have discovered. Yes, in my house of the future, I'm putting in a rock garden. Maybe cultivate some lichen.

Actually, I have seed packets. Don't laugh. I may not have a place to plant them yet, and may not for a long time, but I have the seed packets, for when I finally have the Rest. What's the Rest? Minotaur's Rest. My belonging-place. Home. I just haven't seen it yet. Or bought it. But I know what I'll be planting when I find it. Moonflowers and morning glories. And I'll put in a bed of Irish Moss, to lay on. There's a poem in that, somewhere.

In this world, there's a whole lot of golden.
In this world, there's a whole lot of plain.
In this world, you've a soul for a compass
and a heart for a pair of wings.
There's a star on the far horizon,
blazing bright in an azure sky.
For the rest of the time that you're given,
why walk when you can fly?

- Why Walk When You Can Fly, by Mary Chapin Carpenter

(She may have become country, but she started out Folk!