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| Brown Headed Cowbird, plain parasite of the bird world. |
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| baby robins |
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| fleeing critter |
Sunday, June 28, 2020
It's finally hot. Really hot.
Saturday, May 9, 2020
Saturday, May 2, 2020
Tuesday, March 24, 2020
Monday, March 23, 2020
Sunday, March 1, 2020
Watkins Glen State Park
...from October 2019.
Watkins Glen is an amazing example of engineered nature.
Wednesday, February 19, 2020
Tentacles of Ritual and Secretions of Madness
part 5
The astronaut and moles were followed by the new Ambassador to the Earth Nations, his eminence the Mole from orbiting rock #22, which had been captured and resettled by the Space Moles out of the Eleventh Door and the planet known to earthlings as Stevens-Plot.
Lana was too dumb struck to stand. The astronaut was in a flight suit but wasn’t wearing a helmet and was totally recognizable as the infamous Steven Reparte who had gone through the Eleventh Door and come back again leading an army of Space Moles. The moles all looked the same except for their bright accoutrements which could be anything from sashes to top hats to full dress in any style imaginable. The leading moles were wearing belts full of gadgets and pinstriped neckties and were all holding batons that could have ceremonial or weapons. Lana didn’t know. She wanted a margarita.
The most conspicuous mole and obvious leader was wearing a full length bright red evening dress with spaghetti straps, a pilgrims buckle hat straight out of grade school Thanksgiving Day festivities (it might have been made from construction paper) , and was puffing on a Cuban cigar. It had the swagger of a deep space miner and the tact of Joe Pile Meany the Fifth, butcher of Outpost Farspeak. The Space Mole mashed out the half spent cigar on the back of his lieutenant’s head and spit on the singed bluegrass. “This place is a gob of assimilatude-beach-maggot tubeworm poo. But it will do. Bring in the bulldozers.” They gathered in a circle on Mr. Moony’s lawn, and the ambassador kicked over a flamingo lawn ornament that somehow hadn’t rolled over or burst into flames. “Mr. Reparte, thank you for delivering me from The Rock to here, this new embassy close to hills. Good hills for tunneling. And near a big water source, this river you call Ohio. Named for a great and obsolete leader I presume. The mole waved a thick, fuzzy finger at the astronaut, signifying he reply.
“It’s a good place, and a good river. I could have landed us a bit closer, of course.” Reparte had been convinced upon, by the MST operative, to fly out to orbiting rock #22 and bring down a small assembly of Space Moles. The ambassador liked the look of southern Ohio and personally picked out Mr. Moody’s home based on a hair-tea-soup witch’s reading conducted from earth’s orbit.
“No, no. We can bring the big river closer to us through this smaller river and rename it after I have been crowned and renamed. Duly.” The mole swiveled its tiny mole head on its thick neck and gazed into the neighboring yard. “Come, let us take control of this building and set up the business of diplomacy for this Earth. Chee, chee. Yesh. Release the pets, they must be famished. And bring the seated human from there; yes that reclining pigeon with blueish pants and stripy top.”
Lana tensed and stood, ready to back into her house, but a twosome of moles trotted over the fallen fence and escorted her back.
“Don’t worry, miss,” said Steven as he reached for her arm and took her from the not too gentle captain.
Together they walked to the house and one of the moles melted the locks with its baton. The mole stood aside and with supreme airs the ambassador stalked through the sliding glass enclosure into the dining room. Two feathery beasts with vestigial wings and three whip necks waving ahead of their surging torsos burst into the house amid the throng and took charge of the sofa and easy chair. Lastly came Steven and the girl. She was still sweating in the heat, and now the overly air-conditioned house gave her a chill, and she shivered. “It’s okay,” said the astronaut. He took off his flight jacket and put it over her shoulders.
The ambassador looked around the room. “Remove these things, and what is in those hanging containers?” The table chairs were hauled away and plates were taken from the cabinets and set around the kitchen table. “We are gathered here, in this place called Ohio. Lieutenant, has the sacrifice been watered?”
The lieutenant snatched one of beasts from the cushions. Its three necks, all ending with a single toothed maw and one faceted eyeball, thrashed. “Injected with the snoot-blood of a thousand ripe beach maggots.”
“Commence.”
The lieutenant hauled up the beast and slammed it onto the oak table, then with a swift move sliced through its wriggling tentacle heads with the baton. Slimy red goo spurted on to the surface, and the captains stepped forward to scoop the remains on plates and hold them into the air. The lieutenant picked a plate and raised it to the ambassador.
“I am ambassador to the Earth Nations, Holiest Lord Ohio.” The mole dipped a hand into the goo and slapped the hand over its right eye, leaving a bloody print behind. “You may all anoint me, including the local notable, Blue Pants.”
“Oh my God,” said Lana, shivering even deeper.
“No, only your most earth bound exalted.” In the end she dipped in a finger and put a dot of red onto his whiskered nose. The mole was delighted, and to end the ceremony it knocked over the table and laughed when the second beast rushed into the kitchen and feasted on the leftovers.
The astronaut and moles were followed by the new Ambassador to the Earth Nations, his eminence the Mole from orbiting rock #22, which had been captured and resettled by the Space Moles out of the Eleventh Door and the planet known to earthlings as Stevens-Plot.
Lana was too dumb struck to stand. The astronaut was in a flight suit but wasn’t wearing a helmet and was totally recognizable as the infamous Steven Reparte who had gone through the Eleventh Door and come back again leading an army of Space Moles. The moles all looked the same except for their bright accoutrements which could be anything from sashes to top hats to full dress in any style imaginable. The leading moles were wearing belts full of gadgets and pinstriped neckties and were all holding batons that could have ceremonial or weapons. Lana didn’t know. She wanted a margarita.
The most conspicuous mole and obvious leader was wearing a full length bright red evening dress with spaghetti straps, a pilgrims buckle hat straight out of grade school Thanksgiving Day festivities (it might have been made from construction paper) , and was puffing on a Cuban cigar. It had the swagger of a deep space miner and the tact of Joe Pile Meany the Fifth, butcher of Outpost Farspeak. The Space Mole mashed out the half spent cigar on the back of his lieutenant’s head and spit on the singed bluegrass. “This place is a gob of assimilatude-beach-maggot tubeworm poo. But it will do. Bring in the bulldozers.” They gathered in a circle on Mr. Moony’s lawn, and the ambassador kicked over a flamingo lawn ornament that somehow hadn’t rolled over or burst into flames. “Mr. Reparte, thank you for delivering me from The Rock to here, this new embassy close to hills. Good hills for tunneling. And near a big water source, this river you call Ohio. Named for a great and obsolete leader I presume. The mole waved a thick, fuzzy finger at the astronaut, signifying he reply.
“It’s a good place, and a good river. I could have landed us a bit closer, of course.” Reparte had been convinced upon, by the MST operative, to fly out to orbiting rock #22 and bring down a small assembly of Space Moles. The ambassador liked the look of southern Ohio and personally picked out Mr. Moody’s home based on a hair-tea-soup witch’s reading conducted from earth’s orbit.
“No, no. We can bring the big river closer to us through this smaller river and rename it after I have been crowned and renamed. Duly.” The mole swiveled its tiny mole head on its thick neck and gazed into the neighboring yard. “Come, let us take control of this building and set up the business of diplomacy for this Earth. Chee, chee. Yesh. Release the pets, they must be famished. And bring the seated human from there; yes that reclining pigeon with blueish pants and stripy top.”
Lana tensed and stood, ready to back into her house, but a twosome of moles trotted over the fallen fence and escorted her back.
“Don’t worry, miss,” said Steven as he reached for her arm and took her from the not too gentle captain.
Together they walked to the house and one of the moles melted the locks with its baton. The mole stood aside and with supreme airs the ambassador stalked through the sliding glass enclosure into the dining room. Two feathery beasts with vestigial wings and three whip necks waving ahead of their surging torsos burst into the house amid the throng and took charge of the sofa and easy chair. Lastly came Steven and the girl. She was still sweating in the heat, and now the overly air-conditioned house gave her a chill, and she shivered. “It’s okay,” said the astronaut. He took off his flight jacket and put it over her shoulders.
The ambassador looked around the room. “Remove these things, and what is in those hanging containers?” The table chairs were hauled away and plates were taken from the cabinets and set around the kitchen table. “We are gathered here, in this place called Ohio. Lieutenant, has the sacrifice been watered?”
The lieutenant snatched one of beasts from the cushions. Its three necks, all ending with a single toothed maw and one faceted eyeball, thrashed. “Injected with the snoot-blood of a thousand ripe beach maggots.”
“Commence.”
The lieutenant hauled up the beast and slammed it onto the oak table, then with a swift move sliced through its wriggling tentacle heads with the baton. Slimy red goo spurted on to the surface, and the captains stepped forward to scoop the remains on plates and hold them into the air. The lieutenant picked a plate and raised it to the ambassador.
“I am ambassador to the Earth Nations, Holiest Lord Ohio.” The mole dipped a hand into the goo and slapped the hand over its right eye, leaving a bloody print behind. “You may all anoint me, including the local notable, Blue Pants.”
“Oh my God,” said Lana, shivering even deeper.
“No, only your most earth bound exalted.” In the end she dipped in a finger and put a dot of red onto his whiskered nose. The mole was delighted, and to end the ceremony it knocked over the table and laughed when the second beast rushed into the kitchen and feasted on the leftovers.
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