The Green Fields of France, by the Fureys and Davey Arthur

The Fureys are an Irish male folk band. They also sometimes record as the The Fureys and Davey Arthur.

Swallowed by the Darkness

Clumps of grey cloud scudded across a metallic sky

In the west, ribbons of brilliant pink and orange slashed the sky like fire

I walked towards a faint light in the sky where the moon tried to escape

An encroaching embrace of dark clouds

Only to be finally swallowed by the darkness

My breath came in strangled gasps as I tried to increase my pace

But something -- weeds in the overgrown yard perhaps

Seemed to grab at my feet and ankles

Bare feet, cold in the grey mud

Leeches dropping from the chartreuse canopy to slither down my neck

And puncture my pulsating arteries

I paused at the steps, staring up at the grey shamble of a porch

The front screen door swung wildly in the wind

Banging and screeching like some trapped beast

On the Eastern Front, gigantic elk stood

Silhouetted against artillery flashes

I ran at them swinging my scythe at their obscene racks

Struggling up the steps

I reached out to stop the screen crashing

Ragged edges of screen tore the skin from my hand

And I watched as swollen blue veins on the top of my hand

Spurted fresh, red blood, along my forearm

So much blood

The steely smell of it

Its thick, gooey feel

My heart slammed against my chest

And great gouts of sweat burned my eyes

I knew I would go in there

And I did

And there I am

Swallowed by the darkness

All is Vanity

Moreover, I saw under the sun that in the place of justice, even there was wickedness, and in the place of righteousness, even there was wickedness. I said in my heart, God will judge the righteous and the wicked, for there is a time for every matter and for every work.

I said in my heart with regard to the children of man that God is testing them that they may see that they themselves are but beasts. For what happens to the children of man and what happens to the beasts is the same; as one dies, so dies the other. They all have the same breath, and man has no advantage over the beasts, for all is vanity. All go to one place. All are from the dust, and to dust all return.

Who knows whether the spirit of man goes upward and the spirit of the beast goes down into the earth? So I saw that there is nothing better than that a man should rejoice in his work, for that is his lot. Who can bring him to see what will be after him?

Writing Contest -- Just in time for Halloween

The NPR-sponsored contest is called, "Three Minute Fiction." The winner will have his/her story read on air. The idea is to keep the story short enough so that it can be read in its entirety in three minutes.

This is an on-going contest. Round Five seems designed for Halloween. The story is to start with the sentence, "Some people swore that the house was haunted," and end with "Nothing was ever the same again after that."

Let's try some openings.

Some people swore that the house was haunted. I was one of them, of course. After all, I was haunting the house. Why? It's a long story, but let's just say I was angry, really angry, and I wasn't going away until I'd had my revenge.

Some people swore that the house was haunted. It was mostly kids, but some adults seemed to believe it, too. If not, why were parents always warning their kids to stay away from the place? That's what Jake was thinking as he approached the ram shackled hulk of a house.

Some people swore that the house was haunted. The stories had been embellished over the years. The prevailing myth was that Mr. Kovalski had murdered his young wife and buried her in the crawl space. The singing that people claimed to have heard was poor Mattie Kovalski lamenting her fate. But there was singing. Jacob heard it now, as he made his way through the overgrown yard towards the house. He'd heard it before. That's why he was here. He needed to know. You see, Mattie had been his mother.

Now to the endings.

And then he saw her. And she came to him, gliding effortlessly across the floor. And he opened his arms. Nothing was ever the same again after that.

He tried not to open his mouth. The great, gray thing looming above him held the pulsating, sickly green blob over his face, pushing it at him. Kostya jerked his head one way and then the other, but the ghastly, rank-smelling horror pinned his head and smashed its rotting paw over his nose and Kostya, his lungs about to burst, gasped for breath. The green blob was pushed into his mouth and he took it deep into his lungs. Nothing was ever the same again after that.

"Don't listen to the singing," his mother warned. "Whatever you do, don't listen." She held his face and stared into his eyes, large now with fright. "Promise me?" He stammered out a promise. A promise he couldn't keep. The singing was so beautiful. A woman's voice, a young woman, perhaps a girl, her lovely voice floated out across the meadow delicately, like butterflies, painting the air with lovely colors. The words were strange, a language he didn't understand, but felt, felt deep, deep inside. He listened. Nothing was ever the same again after that.

Papal Visit

"Science flies you to the moon; religion flies you into buildings."

Sign at a protest during Pope Benedict's visit to the UK.

In Memory

We have but faith
We cannot know
For knowledge is of things we see
And yet we trust it comes from thee
A beam in darkness
Let it grow*

from Tennyson, In Memoriam

September 11, 2010