The Quiet Plodder

By thequietplodder

Organised chaos is happiness

The pleasure is of photography and poetry, of the Australian landscape and of the quarrelsome emotions that hinge into life, notwithstanding those who are loved and love. But today was a quandary, beset with a first day of August distemper: hailstones, strong winds and murdering skies. So, I determined to be homebound, lavished with coffee and hot scones (in turn lavished with generous dollops of cream and jam).

I did some rough and easy Science instead.

Checked how many days until calendar spring? 30
Checked how many days until the equinox? 53 (23rd September at 01:09pm local time to be exact)

I could endure this winter siege a little longer I thought, especially as 'reports' are coming in of wattle blossom outbreaks, a sure sign of the season having turned and will be the subject of an upcoming journey into the forest.

And to read whilst I gambolled not in my rocking chair: 'Eiffel's Tower' by Jill Jonnes, which according to the book's blurb states, 'The thrilling story behind Paris's beloved monument and the extraordinary World's Fair that introduced it.' 354 pages that should entangle me for some time I reckoned - it did. These few lines from page 41 (of Chapter three) illustrate the tone of the book:

'Was there any place quite so delightful as Paris in the spring, when the chestnut trees bloomed a frothy pink, the fountains in the formal parks burbled to life, and the flaneurs strolled the boulevards, twirling their canes and tipping their soft hats to ladies in passing fiacres?'

Ah! 'Flaneurs and fiacres' had me scrumming around to find out what these words described/meant, French being mostly a happy mystery to me.

But what to blip from Australia?

The result. Organised chaos of my Study, where the clackety-clack of the keyboard, amidst the company of erstwhile tomes, makes a very common sound in my household.

It's a pretty mundane, certainly, and an utterly uninteresting indulgence, but what the heck! It is pouring with rain outside, the wind is endeavouring to bring down the powerlines, the heater is on HIGH, and this evening I am content enough with my scones and coffee and keyboard.

pages 264 and 265 - a few hours later:

'At nine o'clock, all eyes turned to the Eiffel Tower, where thousands of fireworks transformed the world's largest structure into "a glowing mass of red fire ...[At the tower's base,] the fountains shot up their jets of liquid fire in green and violet and red; thousands of Chinese lanterns hung in festoons and clusters from trees and bushes; a solid army of men and women, with here and there a bright eyed, happy child, swayed to and fro, laughing, chatting, and revelling in the beauties around them; in the distance stretched the river, its banks outlined in rows of light, and from the opposite bank the Palace of the Torocadero, with its curving wings, shone like a palace of diamonds. Meanwhile, the full moon, sailing along in a clear sky, did its part in the general illumination." '

I marvelled at the writer, of that time, as related by Jill Jonnes, to hardly take a syntax breath.

It's still chilly and blustery and I'm clackety-clacking away beyond midnight.

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