Chapter 39

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Without getting lost or chased around, the distance from where they were to Jake’s house was comparatively quite short. But it still felt like an eternity. Jake had to keep stopping while Dusty struggled to keep up. It was hard to believe he had managed to come so far with how sick he was. Dusty didn’t even have the energy to acknowledge Talltail when he brushed against the dog's scruffy brown side.

When they arrived on the stone path that led to Jake’s home, Talltail spotted their twoleg already outside, looking up and down the street. When it turned and spotted Jake and Dusty, it began hobbling toward them and Talltail ducked just out of sight and watched from a distance. As soon as Dusty saw his twoleg, he apparently decided then and there he was done struggling to keep walking, and lay down in the sparse grass near the houses. The twoleg tried for a moment to tug the dog along but quickly seemed to give up and just sat there stroking Dusty’s head while Jake padded around and meowed at him anxiously, worried questions it of course had no way of understanding.

Talltail was content to leave Dusty to the twolegs care, but he still wanted to get to Jake so he could ensure he’d be ok. Waiting a long time for some sign of Jake to re-emerge from the house, Talltail began to let himself droop from exhaustion while tucked in a hidden corner of the garden. Which of course, had been a terrible idea. His dreams were as dreadful as ever, and they were always worse when he was upset. No matter how many times it happened, he never got used to it.

This time the sensation that he couldn’t breath was more intense than ever. The tunnels felt stiflingly hot instead of freezing like they normally were. Somehow the strange heat was worse than the empty cold. His throat burned, the walls felt brittle, almost charred. Were the glowing amber lights in the darkness eyes or embers? Which was worse? He had an overwhelming urge to run, but of course he couldn’t. He never could.

He awoke with a start and hissed in pain as the surge of fear made him kick out hard, and his hind foot connected with a thorny rose bush. Crossly licking the prickles from his pad, he mumbled, "I should know by now trying to rest when I’m worried is a bad idea..."

He had gotten no farther. Still he was punished with these dreams, and each time he woke from them he was increasingly more angry than afraid. I'm so tired of this…

Instead of sleeping, Talltail began patrolling the entire fence perimeter, slipping around the houses and keeping all his senses trained on the forest bordering the town. If he had to fight a whole patrol himself to get them to leave Jake alone, he would. But the cat he sought was still out there, betraying his family and scheming with ShadowClan. And Sparrow had just watched while his fox-hearted allies cornered Jake! He would have sat back and laughed while they killed him! Jake never harmed anyone, Sparrow had to have known that, he just didn’t care. Would he have joined in if Talltail’s sudden arrival hadn’t frightened him off?

Talltail dared step further into the trees, feeling a furious growl rising in his throat as he searched desperately for that faint familiar scent among the stale crossings of ShadowClan. When this mission was finished, he could breathe again. His desperation to be free of it made his paws itch terribly.

Maybe it would be better to go now. There was nothing he could do to help Jake, and he’d complicated things enough by pulling him away from his sick friend. ShadowClan hasn’t come back here, and whatever they’re doing doesn’t involve Jake. If Jake’s not out there, surely there’s no reason for them to track him. Besides, it’s more likely me they’d want to shut up over him.

He was so focused on the scent trails ahead, he didn’t hear the noisy pawsteps behind him until they were nearly right at his heels. Talltail whipped around with a menacing hiss, and was greeted with a startled brown tortoiseshell who immediately backed up with a yelp. Talltail recognized the paranoid nosy kittypet and immediately strained out of his defensive crouch.

“Nutmeg? Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“I wasn’t trying to sneak at all!” Nutmeg yelped.

Talltail winced. She was probably right. He really was focused on the wrong things if a kittypet could walk up to him so easily.

“I’m sorry about that, but what are you doing out here? I thought you hated the woods.”

“I do,” Nutmeg growled, licking her fur to flatten it. “Believe me I do, but...It’s Jake.”

“Jake?” Talltail immediately felt claws of anxiety grip hard at his chest. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

“I think so--not to Jake, but...rather his dog.” Nutmeg shuffled her paws. “I’m not good with these things, but I feel awful. However much I don’t exactly trust you, Jake does, and he’s a mess. He ran out into the streets saying he had to find Dusty and I couldn't catch up to him. So I followed you.”

Dusty. That couldn’t mean anything good.

“I thought Jake’s twoleg--or his housefolk, was taking care of Dusty?”

“He was, at least I saw him leave in the car with the dog. I don’t know what happened, Jake was too upset to talk to me and then he ran off. Look I…”

Talltail hadn’t seen the guarded molly look so distressed before. She must have been concerned if she braved even a pawstep into the trees.

“I just don’t know what to do. Quince’s locked inside, and I don’t want to leave him alone. Will you come back?”

Of course, there was no other choice.

If he found Sparrow once after several moons, then he could do it again when he needed to. After he found Jake.

***

It didn’t take long for Talltail to catch Jake’s scent. It criss-crossed all over the place, but was easy to follow. The trail led out the same hole in the fence they’d both escaped from before. It was bigger now, and there were deep claw marks in the dirt where Talltail assumed Dusty had dug his way out.

He found Jake sniffing around a nearby alley, looking disheveled and mumbling to himself.

“Jake?” Talltail mewed gently. “What are you doing out here?”

Jake’s head shot up, looking bewildered for a moment before running to Talltail and bumping his head against his chest. Talltail pressed his nose to the back of Jake’s head and licked down some of his bristled fur.

“I thought you’d have gone off,” Jake mumbled

“Your friends are worried,” Talltail said. “So was I. Of course I'm still here.”

Jake looked up at him, “I have to find Dusty, he’s gone again.”

“How could he be gone again? Wasn’t he with your housefolk?”

“I woke up and he wasn’t here. He must have got out, I have to find him, he can’t be out on his own.” Jake left his side and resumed sniffing around the alleyway.

“Ok.” Talltail padded up behind him and gave him a small reassuring nuzzle. “I’ll look with you.”

They didn’t wander far from the house. Jake followed Dusty’s stale trail out from under  the fence and Talltail followed him, passively suggesting new places they hadn’t looked for a fresh scent. His own nose told him Dusty’s trail was only left over from days earlier. But he followed Jake down sidewalks checking everything, pushing through bushes and looking behind bins that were certainly too small to reasonably hide a big dog. Talltail pressed close beside Jake when he stopped to rest. The usually bright and chipper tom’s whiskers drooped miserably and his tail collected debris from dragging on the ground.

The sun rose and dipped again in the sky, and not many words passed between them. Talltail didn’t know what to do other than offer what little his company provided. It didn’t feel like enough. They’d ended up back where they started for the third time, and Jake was sitting with his paws tucked under him, watching the sun sink beneath the trees, casting a deep blue shade across the twoleg place and the woods beyond.

“Perhaps…” Talltail began, “There’s somewhere in the park's direction we didn’t catch?”

Jake didn't reply for a long time, his gaze dragged down to stare at the crumpled grass. Talltail’s heart broke seeing him look so wretched.

“No…” he said at last, so quietly Talltail scarcely heard it.

“No? Why not?”

Jake’s chin sunk to rest on the cold ground. “I know there’s no point, Talltail. I knew that before, I just…” his voice trembled and broke off. Talltail quietly groomed his ears while Jake took a shaky breath. “Sometimes housefolk take us away somewhere when we’re ill, and they don’t come back. I knew something was really wrong. But I didn’t want to believe it. I just didn’t want to go back to the house. It’s too empty. It feels wrong. I really wanted to hope that the obvious wasn’t true but...Dusty’s not ever coming back.”

Talltail rested his muzzle on Jake’s head. He didn’t know what twolegs did with their ill housemates, but the truth had been plain to him as well. “I’m sorry,” he said, though he knew it wouldn’t do much.

“I’m sorry,” Jake moaned. “I’m wasting your time keeping you here.”

“I’m here because I want to be. You haven’t made me do anything.” He couldn’t imagine Jake feeling that way. If anything, it was him who had been wasting Jake’s time.

“I don’t know what to do now,” Jake mewed, muffled by the grass he buried his face in “I should go home but...”

“I understand,” Talltail said. He meant it. He knew how it felt to have trouble feeling home somewhere that was suddenly quieter and emptier, and forever different for the lack of someone there. But even so, they couldn’t stay out in the open near the woods. Talltail stood slowly, not sure if the idea he had was any better, but if he knew grief, he knew Jake would probably let himself be led anywhere, as long as he didn’t have to make a decision himself.

Talltail pressed his nose gently to Jake's cheek. “Come on, Jake. We can’t stay here forever.”

Eventually Jake got to his shaky paws and followed. They squeezed back under the fence and padded around to the side of Jake's house. Talltail leapt onto the fence and waited for Jake to join him. There were paw holds on the window and up a wooden ladder leaning against the wall that made the climb to the top easier.

Talltail and Jake clambered up onto the rough tiles of the roof, away from anyone below that may try to pester them, and high enough to see for a distance.

The sun was gone now, giving way to a darkening sky slowly filling with stars. Jake pressed against Talltail and for a long while they were quiet, just watching the world silently darken. Talltail wished he knew what to say to Jake, but he felt from experience that platitudes would feel empty.

Over on the far horizon, he saw dark clouds gathering, and a tremor in the air against his whiskers warned there may be a storm rolling in over those hills. The first in a long time. But how could he worry about that now? The storm would have to be pushed out of his mind as he looked back to Jake and passively started to groom his fur, picking out the debris and leaves that stuck to him from their long fruitless search.

Talltail was almost surprised when Jake finally spoke. “You know…” he rasped, his mew weak. “I know a lot of cats think it’s silly, the way I am. How close I was with Dusty. Even other cats that live with dogs just ignore them. But Dusty was different. I saw him even when I was a kit living on the farm. I was closer to him than my littermates. He didn’t speak, but it felt like he really understood me. Even if he wasn’t related to me in any way, or even a cat…” Jake's voice broke off and he tried to compose himself. “He was my family. I loved that fluff-brained dog...I don’t know what to do now. I’ve never lost anyone before...” Jake paused, his sad emerald eyes glimmered dark viridian in the dusk. “Or I suppose I have, but I never let myself dwell on it.”

“Yeah?”

“It was a similar feeling when my mom went away. A little bit before I met you actually. It was so long ago that now I don’t even know how to feel about it. She just didn’t come back to the barn one day, and I don’t actually know if she’s alive or not. It’s easier to imagine she’s just...gone off adventuring somewhere. I didn’t have to feel as sad about it. It’s so much harder to accept that someone just...suddenly isn’t there anymore. Just vanished and you can’t see them again. I don’t even know how to make sense of it. But I can’t ignore it this time.”

Talltail rested his head on Jake’s shoulder, wishing he could find the words to articulate his understanding. He’d never gotten to share a vigil with any cat either. At the time, he thought not seeing it up close was better, but perhaps them just disappearing had only served to make the acceptance that much harder.

“I don’t know how I couldn’t have realized,” Jake sniffed. “If I’d known, I’d have...I don’t know...I just wasn’t ready for this all of a sudden.”

“I don’t know that anyone is ever really ready,” Talltail said. “It just...happens anyway.”

Jake looked up at him, “I’ve been thinking about the spirits in the stars you told me about.”

“Yeah. We always believed that you're more than your body. Like there’s a part of you that exists outside of it. And that part never disappears. It just goes to a new place.”

“Do you think there’s a place like that for dogs too?”

Talltail thought for a moment. He wouldn’t have thought so before, but then, he didn’t know there was so much world outside his own when he was young. He didn’t think about the sky stretching far beyond their territory, and yet it did. And then he thought about what he’d heard from Hen and Reena so long ago. Everyone had ghosts.

“I’ll bet there is,” Talltail said at last. “Reena once told me they had their own spirits, that everyone does, whether they realize it or not. There’s a lot of stars. The sky is big enough.”

The moon crawled up into the sky as they watched the stars twinkle above their heads.

“I should go back...” Jake murmured.

Talltail was almost surprised. “Are you sure? If you’re not ready…”

“I’m not. But...I’ll try anyway...Thank you, Talltail.”

Talltail followed close behind him as he leaped down from the roof. Back in the garden, they saw that the back glass door was open and the fireplace inside cast a warm glow around the dark room. His housefolk must have been waiting... Talltail thought. Jake turned and pressed his muzzle under Talltail’s chin for a long moment, and then squeezed back inside.

Talltail wouldn’t follow him inside. This was a grief that didn’t belong to him. Jake’s twoleg was sat down in front of his fire, staring into it. In his paw something shiny caught the light. It was a tag hanging off of the collar that Dusty always wore around his neck. Jake walked tentatively up to him and headbutted the twoleg’s long leg. He reached down and lifted Jake up, holding him close to his chest. The twoleg appeared to be speaking to Jake as he stroked his fur, eyes strangely wet in the warm ember light of the small contained fire while Jake purred up at him.

Talltail never used to imagine a twoleg feeling much of anything, but somehow he finally understood in a way, how Jake bonded to such a different creature. There were no two alike things living in this house, but they still loved each other, and they both grieved all the same.

It was not a family Talltail would ever be a part of. As he watched alone from the dark, with nothing left to distract him, there came that creeping heavy guilt that he’d been trying to push off throughout the day. It was impossible not to feel that Jake would have been better off if he’d never come here. Never drawn him out of his home, never took him away from his denmate in the last days of his life so he could help Talltail with his own needs... Maybe Dusty’s illness wouldn’t have been exacerbated if the dog hadn't tried to follow so far.

Talltail wanted to tell Jake a lot of things, about how grateful he was, how much he’d come to care for him, perhaps even more than that. He wanted to tell Jake he was sorry too, for seemingly bringing so much misfortune with his presence, although he knew that sentiment wouldn’t be accepted.

Talltail desperately didn’t want to go, and that was how he knew that to stay longer would be more selfish than anything. Jake was safe and home now, and should be left in peace to sort out his grief, not tempted into pointless danger again.

I’m sorry I’m going to leave so suddenly. But the sooner I’m gone, the sooner you can figure out how to go on with your life as it was... Maybe he’d be able to return later and offer a proper goodbye. But probably not. Talltail turned from the house, squeezed under the fence, and padded into the yawning shadows of woodland beyond.

He stared down at his paws as he trudged along, knowing Jake wouldn’t have cause to chase after him this time and feeling that lonely realization stab him deep in the gut.

The dark woods around him felt deep and empty. He was on his own at last, as he had always sought to be. What now?

You know what you have to do, the cruel voice in the back of his head hissed. It’s the only thing left to do now.

Talltail curled his lip. Fine, he thought in bitter resignation. Let’s get this over with then. He was sick of this. Sick of the nightmares. Sick of the guilt. At least after this, his subconscious would have nothing left to taunt him with.

A sudden chill of night wind blew cold at his back, sending a shiver up his spine. He turned to look up at the sky, and was shocked to see the dark clouds that had hung on the horizon had blown in so fast, choking out the sparse moonlight. The air was muggy and thick, and his fur prickled with apprehension at the electricity in the air. A wise cat would be taking cover. But a storm wasn’t going to stop him now. No more hiding.

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The Gardener - Part 3

Continuing from this story     Part 4

How the human had managed to land this hunk of junk without getting themselves killed was some stroke of dumb luck. That was clear the moment Nipti pulled the drat thing into the shop. It was even more clear as he crouched into it to look at the ship’s meager engines. He’d had to teach himself the basics of small engines and different machines he used around the various gardens. However, that didn’t mean he was any sort of expert, especially when it came to something as big as a ship’s engines. That being said, even he could tell that the ship was going to need parts. A lot of them. “What is this- uhg, is this being held together with tape?!?” That was not up to any code he knew of. In fact, the more he saw of this ship the more he realized it was less of a ship and more of one giant collection of safety, engineering, design, and who knows what else protocol violations! This was hopeless. At least, for Nipti. He was a gardener after all, not a mechanic! Not to mention he still had his chores to do today. He sighed as he straightened his back and stretched. Well, might as well head back to the green garden. Make sure the human hadn’t gotten into anything too dangerous. They may be from the same planet as many of his specimens, but that didn’t mean they were completely immune to their dangers. And also, maybe he could get them to help out with his chores there if their offer to do so was genuine. Nipti carefully retreated from the trash scrap the human called a ship and started up the hoverbike. When Nipti arrived back at the Green Gardens, he didn’t see the human. He watched the raspberries, waiting to see moving branches or signs of their presence. The leafy plants only moved gently with the wind. Where had they gone? As Nipti parked the hoverbike, he noticed the pails the human had retrieved from the supply shack. They were filled with red, purple, and golden yellow fruits. Well, nearly full. The human must have eaten about half of one of the buckets. Or maybe they just had finished picking and put the bucket with the others. Nipti looked up and around again for where the human had gone, now a little worried. They said the raspberries were fine for them to eat, he hoped they hadn’t been overestimating their ability to process the xylitol in them. Maybe they were sick and had to lie down. But where?

“Marley?” Nipti called out. He kept telling himself that the human was fine. They were from Earth, they knew these plants potentially as well or even better than he did. He wasn’t sure why he felt so worried. He decided it must just be that he really, really didn’t want to deal with a sick or injured human in his gardens. That was definitely a good reason after all. “Marley?!” “Over here!” he could just make out their voice farther back in the foliage to his right. He gave a small sigh of relief, then shaking his head, donned his protective gear, and headed toward the sound of the human’s voice. He wondered if maybe they had found something else edible. That might be nice. Until their ship was fixed or a replacement procured, it was looking like they’d be here a while and he wasn’t quite sure what humans ate. Raspberries were one thing, but surely they needed more to their diet than that. As Nipti carefully pushed aside bushes and plants that he noted looked like they were in desperate need of trimming, he twisted his way into where he had heard Marley’s voice. As the human came into view, he stopped dead in his tracks. His plants. They were torn out of the ground, their scraggly, branching roots spreading out every which way except down in the dirt where they belonged. Plant after plant in the clearing looked like they’d been ripped up, bunched together, and thrown down. It was like something out of a horror story. “My plants!” Nipti cried, rushing forward and grabbing the human as they tried to pry up another specimen. “What have you done?! Why would you do this to my plants?!” Surprised, Marley released the plant they’d been pulling at and fell back onto Nipti who in turn fell back and landed on a pile of pulled vegetation. “Dude, what the heck? What was that for?” Marley rolled off of Nipti and pushed themselves back up onto their knees. “What was that- what do you think that was for?!” Nipti gestured at the carnage around him. He frowned down at the small crushed bunch of flowers his plants had started sprouting. Such a waste! Such a tragedy! Perhaps he could replant some of them, it might not be too late for some. “What, do you mean the weeds?” Marley’s eyebrows lifted at different angles as they looked between their mess and Nipti’s devastated expression. “I thought you’d be happy. You have quite an infestation of garlic mustard, you know.” “Infestation?! I planted these! What do you think you’re doing by ruining my garden like this?” Marley frowned and stared at him for a moment. “You mean you meant to plant these? Like, on purpose?” “Of course I did! You know I get plenty of tourists who come through my gardens and step on things here or pull a plant there, but never, in all my time, have I ever had someone go as far in their destruction as you, you monster!” The human looked hurt, and perhaps a bit unsure of themselves for a moment. They looked around the clearing again and their eyebrows squinted together. “Nipti, I’m sorry about angering you. I was trying to help.” Before Nipti could cut in, Marley held up a hand to silence him. “I do have one question though. Or actually two. First, how many of these did you plant?” Nipti frowned. What? What did that matter? He looked down at the crushed plants beneath him again. Then around the clearing where there were more piles all around, and more still that hadn’t yet been picked. “A little more than half a dozen or so.” Marley nodded. “Second question. How long ago did you plant them?” Nipti turned his attention from the numerous plants around him to Marley. The realization was starting to dawn on him, but it was slow coming so far. “About two and a half solar cycles ago.” Marley nodded as if that was that. Nipti, still not quite understanding what the human was getting at and still not quite ready to let go of his anger and shock, stood back up. “What does that matter? You still had no right to ruin my gardens as you did.” Marley’s eyes did a small spin in their sockets as they too got to their feet. “This garlic mustard propagated this much in that short amount of time. I’m saving your garden. I know a noxious weed when I see one.” Nipti’s retort stopped in his throat. What? “Noxious weed? What do you mean?” Marley gestured to their surroundings. “Noxious weeds. They’re what happens when a plant that’s taken out of their native environment and put into a new one where they turn invasive and can cause damage or even kill native plants or wildlife that compete for resources. They can destroy ecosystems if left unchecked.” Nipti frowned as Marley bent down to grab one of the plants by the roots. “Garlic mustard can choke out undergrowth and releases toxins into the soil that kill vital networks of fungi that other plants and trees need.” Marley ripped off a handful of triangular leaves. “They’re edible though, so I guess there’s that.” Nipti nodded slowly as he took it all in. “Noxious weeds,” he repeated quietly. “But if they’re that bad, then why do they not completely overrun all of Earth?” Marley arched their back in a stretch and leaned on a nearby shovel. “Well, they try. The places they’re native to have the right conditions where they’re naturally kept in check. Outside those conditions, they put their survival mechanisms to use and overwhelm ecosystems that aren’t adapted to deal with their tactics. People try to fight them and cut ‘em back, but sometimes it becomes a bit of an uphill battle.” Nipti silently gasped. Battle? Were the humans really at war with the plants from their own planet? He looked around at the clearing they stood in. Well, he supposed it did kind of look like a battlefield of sorts right now. Marley looked around as well and exhaled. “I don’t think they’ve done too much damage yet though. We’ll have to keep an eye around the area though. Garlic mustard seeds spread on the wind, but I don’t know how many of these have gone to seed just yet.” They walked to another patch of garlic mustard, pausing at the large pile they fell in earlier. “Do you have a place to put these? Like a bag or something? I can eat some, they’re still pretty young, the bigger ones I’ll have to cook the cyanide out.” “Cook the cyanide out?!” “Yeah, I can add them to a stir fry or make a sauce or whatever out of those. We just need to get them out of here.” Nipti sized up the number of large piles of pulled plants. This was a lot to take in. First, his garden was torn up, then he was told that the plants growing there were trying to kill his other plants, and now he has to figure out a way to clean all this up and prevent some plant infestation? He had done so much research when selecting specimens for his garden, what soils were necessary, watering information, light, humidity, pollination needs, on and on and on. He looked into everything he’d need to make sure every plant in his garden could thrive. He just never realized that some plants would go on to thrive at the cost of killing off other plants. He provided everything they needed, after all, there was no need for that. But the plants didn’t know that. They were created on Earth, a known category three death world. Survival of the fittest was hardwired into their DNA, and no luxurious life in his or anyone’s garden was going to change all that. “I’ll go get some bags and wagons to carry these,” he turned and headed back in the direction of the hoverbike. “Oh, before you go, real quick,” Marley called out. Nipti turned. “Did you happen to notice anything… odd about my ship when you were looking it over?” Odd? Nipti wondered. Odd was the least to worry about with that ship. “In my honest opinion,” he responded, “your ship is a piece of junk and you’d be better off selling it for scrap and parts. If there are any working parts left that is.” Marley made a low noise that sounded like a mix between a growl and a whine. “That bad, huh?” “I’ve never seen anything so malfunctioned before in my life.” The human’s shoulders dropped. They looked so sad, like a fledgling kuipik that’s forgotten where its den was. Nipti sighed. “If you really have it in to fix the drag blast thing, you’re gonna need a complete overhaul. Those do not come cheap, nor am I anywhere near qualified or capable of doing anything more than a tune-up. You'd have to hire a mechanic. And a good one at that.” “How much are we talking?” “Almost as much as it would cost to buy a ship that size new.” “Ouch.” Marley closed their eyes and tilted their head back up to the sky. After a silent moment, they nodded and began pacing. “Okay, okay. I’ll figure that out. In any case, I’m going to need money, and lots of it then. More than what I’ve got now, that’s for sure.” They stopped. They stared at the pulled plants around them. Nipti didn’t have much experience with humans and their wildly varied expression, but even he could see that Marley was thinking hard. After a few tiks, they nodded. “Nipti? You said you have a lot of tourists pop in, right?” “I do. They can be a real pain in my tail most of the time.” “I don’t suppose those tourists would mind a bite to eat while they peruse the gardens.” Nipti narrowed his eyes. Marley continued “And if they didn’t bring a snack, or if they wanted to sample some exotic foods while visiting exotic plants, made by what may be to them an exotic alien, they might be willing to pay some real tourist-trap level prices.” “I don’t know if I like where this is going.” “It’s just an idea,” Marley stopped pacing. “Like you said, fixing my ship isn’t going to be cheap. I know you love your gardens and having a human literally fall from the sky suddenly be your problem wasn’t part of your plans, but I’m willing to help you with your plants and dealing with tourists, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get my ship fixed. Maybe I can kill two birds with one stone?” “I’m going to assume that’s an Earth idiom.” “Yes it is.” Nipti sighed. Putting his head in his hands, he slid his slender fingers over his nasal ridge. “Okay. That may be a good idea,” he conceded, “but as of right now, it’s just an idea that needs a lot of thinking through and careful planning.” Marley’s face split into a toothy expression, the corners of their mouth turned upwards. They raised their hand up in a fist, except their opposable fifth digit was extended upwards. He stared at them. They stared back. “I’ll go get those bags then,” Nipti once again turned back toward the hoverbike. Thankfully, he had left it in the sun to recharge. He had already made more back and forth trips from his workshop and quarters to the Green Garden today alone than he had any time in recent memory. And by the looks of all the garlic mustard he would now need to transport, he would be making a few more before the day was done.

Part 4

Growth

Summary: Yunho, Mingi, and their girl take a trip to the botanical gardens and encounter things that make them think of the past and see a hope in their future together.

Wordcount: 5.7k

Content warnings: Mention and talk of injuries from the encounter between Yunho and their girl in the last chapter (bruises) a little residual angst and guilt, but this is mostly fluff. Discussions of the future including houses and babies, but also closer things and dreams they share together.

“I’m so excited to see everything today,” she said as they stepped off the train and onto the platform at Pelham Parkway station.

“There is so much to see here,” Mingi said as he looked at the map of the gardens on his phone. “Can we be sure to go to the greenhouses? I really want to see the rainforest.”

“Yeah sure,” Yunho assured him. “We have all day. It’s a little chilly this morning, do you want a little coffee or tea from the cafe to take with us?”

“Good idea,” she rubbed her hands together even as she spoke, trying to warm her fingers. “Not sure why it feels so chilly this morning. It was definitely warmer the other days.”

“It’s okay,” Mingi grinned, coming up behind her. “All the more excuse to hold your hands.” Reaching around, he gathered her hands into his much larger ones and brought them to his mouth to blow warm air on them. “See? All better.”

“Thank you, my Mingles,” she replied, turning her head to place a kiss on his cheek. “Oops, I forgot about my lipstick. Let me—”

“No no no, it’s okay,” Mingi pulled away enough to keep her from wiping it off. “I want to wear your kisses today.”

“Me too?” Yunho leaned down and offered her his cheek.

“Of course, I’d never forget my Yuyu,” she cupped his cheek and pressed a kiss to the offered cheek, taking special care to caress his face as she kissed him. “I love you.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, pressing her hand against his cheek.

“I’m not going to let you doubt it again,” she promised, running the pad of her thumb over his cheekbone. “Let’s get something warm, then I want to spend the day looking at pretty things with my very favorite people.”

“Tea or coffee?” He straightened up and pulled out his wallet.

“I want the whipped creamiest, sweetest, fluffiest coffee they have,” she gave him a decisive nod at the idea.

“Okay, I’ll grab that, and you, love?” He turned to Mingi.

“Just a latte of some kind I think,” Mingi agreed, coming to hold their girl against him. Yunho nodded and leaned in to give Mingi a quick peck on his lips, then skipped up the steps and into the cafe.

Mingi lifted her hands up again, pulling down her sleeves slightly so he could press them completely against his cheeks. As he did, he noticed purple green bruises that ringed her wrists, which had been hidden by the long sleeves of her fluffy sweater. She pulled her hands back when she realized he had caught sight of them.

“I didn’t know he had held you that hard,” Mingi said, catching one hand to peek down her sleeve as she tried to hide it.

“Don’t mention it to him,” she requested, pulling the wool over her wrist again. “I think he probably feels bad enough. I want to have a fun day today. I can hide them with makeup tomorrow. He doesn’t need to know.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t stop him,” Mingi murmured, casting an eye towards the cafe to make sure Yunho wasn’t coming back already. “I should have stopped him, for both of you.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks I think,” she shrugged and offered him a sunny smile to help convince him that everything was fine. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t your place to stop him. If he really hurt me, I would have told him. He just… it was my fault anyway.”

“No babe,” Mingi shook his head and pulled her into a hug. “You didn’t kiss her, she kissed you. And you pushed her away, anyway. Yunho should trust you enough to know… to know that you aren’t going to leave.”

“I don’t have a leg to stand on there,” she laughed ruefully. “But I’ll build it back. With both of you.”

“I trust you,” Mingi declared firmly. “Nothing to prove to me. But I won’t say anything. I want to have a good time with you both today.”

“The best day,” she nodded. “I want to see all the fun things and see and smell all the cool plants.” 

Yunho appeared beside them, three coffees in hand and a broad grin on his face. “Are we all ready to go to the gardens?”

Both she and Mingi nodded as they took their cups and turned down the streets that would lead them to the gardens. They made their way past the long blocks of mostly brick apartment blocks until they reached the edge of the park. They walked through the non-descript gray stone gate and over the pedestrian bridge, suddenly finding themselves feeling like they were no longer in the city. After checking in at the gate, they followed the light switchback in the walkway down and into the park before swinging left on the broad paved path. Ahead of them there was a sudden proliferation of blooms in pink and white stretching up into the blue sky. Cherry trees dotted the grassy areas of the hill ahead of them.

“This was absolutely the best idea for a place to visit,” she said as she looked up at the cherry trees surrounding the trail they were on. Smiling up at Yunho, she offered the beautifully teal-haired boy’s had a grateful squeeze.

“There are so many,” Mingi said excitedly, putting a protective hand around her shoulder as they walked. A light breeze stirred the trees, sending a brief flurry of petals into the air. The trees weren’t tall for the most part, but their limbs looked like they should be heavy with the blooms that had burst to life on them. They wandered in circles among the trees, admiring the different colors and shapes of them all.

“I love the ones that sort of droop,” she said as she pointed at one that had branches that seemed to flow down towards the ground. “They feel sort of peaceful somehow.”

“Did you see how many petals this one has?” Mingi asked, standing near one that was back up the hill closer to where they had started. She and Yunho joined him there at the low tree that branched out broadly from its base. The flowers looked like they should be made from water colored paper. Pale pink with occasional darker edges, the tightly packed petals bunched together in beautiful bunches of flowers on the branches.

“Do they have scent?” She asked, looking up at them. At her question, Mingi turned his face into the nearest branches.

“Mmm, just a little,” he nodded. “Come here.” Reaching out, he picked her up around her waist and lifted her up to smell for herself. Closing her eyes, she buried her nose in the pack of blossoms and breathed in. A barely there scent, something like roses with the light notes of lilacs came to greet her.

“Oh, I like it,” she breathed, taking another sniff. “It’s so light though.”

“Yeah,” Yunho agreed, smelling a nearby bunch. “I wonder if you would smell it more if you had it inside where the scent could build a little.”

“Maybe,” She nodded. “I’d try it if this were our tree, but I don’t want to steal from the gardens.”

“Me neither,” Yunho laughed. “Let’s go see the trees I know will smell.”

“Oh?” Mingi said, putting her down and taking her hand as they all started moving in the direction that Yunho set off towards. He led them north along the path they had come on, going past the fork in the path where they had entered, taking the one they hadn’t before. The path was surrounded by tall, old trees whose branches arched over the path and would shade it later in the year when their leaves had filled in.

Suddenly they found themselves coming up on a sea of trees dressed in pink, white, and pale green. The older trees here were larger and the blooms much bigger and growing as individual flowers rather than cloud-like bunches.

“Magnolias?” She asked excitedly, taking Yunho’s free hand in hers.

“Yeah,” He grinned down at her. “I really wanted to see these. I thought you would, too.”

“This is just… amazing,” she breathed, taking in all of the trees. Stepping off the path, she walked up to a small craggy looking tree blooming with flowers with petals that were a deep pink on the outside and bright white on the inside. Reaching out, she touched one of the velvet soft blooms, gripping it just hard enough to bring it to her face so she could breathe in the scent.

“The trees really do smell amazing,” Mingi agreed, coming up behind her. “Maybe, when we have our house, we can plant a magnolia that blooms in spring and we can sit under the tree together. Have breakfast on spring mornings.”

“Maybe with a picnic table?” She began, then gave an excited gasp. “Maybe one of those swings?”

“Or hammocks?” Mingi added with a big grin. “One that is big enough for three. Maybe room to grow?”

“Room to grow?” Yunho asked.

“Don’t you want, like someday, little mini us’s, you know, running around?” Mingi asked as he sipped his coffee.

“Yeah,” Yunho agreed, having had a vague picture of himself chasing after little versions of one or the other of them for as long as he could really recall. “I do.”

Stepping back she looked up at the two boys beside her. a little frown developing between her brows. “It wouldn’t… it wouldn’t bother you to not know, like, if it’s yours?”

“What do you mean?” Mingi asked, a quizzical expression on his face.

“You wouldn’t treat them differently if they looked more like Yunho than you? Or vice versa?” The question had been one of the many things that had been running through her head when she had tried to imagine their future. “Am I supposed to take turns?” She further wondered aloud, her mouth twisting into a distressed pout.  “Do we have to make sure we know whose is whose?”

“Do you really think we’d be worried about that?” Yunho asked.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I think most people would. And I think your parents will care. It would be okay if you cared. We can figure it out if it matters to you.”

“I don’t care,” Mingi shrugged. “And I really don’t care if it bothers my dad. In fact, I sort of hope it does.”

“My mom would love any kid we all had,” Yunho said with surety. “At least your parents will always know it's yours.”

“That’s true,” she let out a nervous snicker. “But I’m still not sure they would like it, that they would approve.”

“Does it matter?” Mingi asked. “Would it bother you if they didn’t approve?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Maybe it’s dumb, but I still want them to understand. I want them to accept me.”

“You know they love you,” Yunho assured her. “They’ll come around. Even if it takes some time, they want you to be happy most of all. I know that to be true.”

“I hope so,” she nodded, giving him a smile. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“Gotta keep my girl warm,” he replied, pulling her against his side. “Hafta take good care of her.”

“You always do,” she soothed, patting his hand with her free one. “Would you mind if we just sat for a little while?”

“Actually, I brought snacks,” Yunho said proudly. “Let’s take a seat under one of the trees, finish our coffee and have a little something. Here,” he handed her his coffee and reached into the backpack he was carrying. Pulling out a small rolled up towel, he moved to lay it down under some taller mostly white flowered trees that were next to the path. He put the backpack down and sat cross legged on the towel and patted his lap, inviting her to sit. She smiled, lowering herself into his lap and leaning her head back against his shoulder.

Taking the coffee’s out of her hands and placing them on the grass beside them, Yunho wrapped both arms around her, pulling her back against his chest. He turned his face to nuzzle into her hair, just taking in her warmth and her scent. A part of his heart still felt uneasy despite the smile he had made sure to keep on his face. He had made a mistake yesterday and the guilt was eating at him, but he wasn’t sure if bringing it up again was just selfish and about soothing his conscience more than making amends.

Bringing a hand up to caress the side of his head and face, she tried to offer him a little comfort. Yunho wasn’t nearly as good at hiding his feelings as he thought. Even if Mingi didn’t think so, it was her fault and she would do whatever it took to make him really smile again. She felt Mingi’s hand land on their legs and she moved her other hand to entwine her fingers with his.

Around them the breeze fluttered the petals of the tree and people enjoyed the park. Pairs passed by using the paths for exercise as they socialized and laughed. Families with children ran and played, exploring nature or running through the open grass. The space was filled with people yet everyone still existed in their own little bit of it. No one took particular interest in the people they weren’t there with, simply tolerating or otherwise barely taking note of the others around them.

“I want a garden,” she said softly as she turned to look up at the tree above them. “I want a big magnolia in the yard and cherry trees that also make fruit we can have in the summer. And I want some climbing roses that I can pick and put in vases inside to make the house smell nice.”

“What about some wisteria on the porch?” Mingi suggested. “I like the pretty purple flowers.”

“What about a little place for herbs so I can cook you lots of good food with fresh rosemary and parsley?” Yunho suggested. “Maybe we could even just plant some actual food? Tomatoes, peas, zucchini? What else can you grow at home?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Mom and dad have black thumbs and have hired other people to care of the yard beyond just mowing the grass.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Mingi stated confidently. “We’ll make our own little botanical garden with everything we want.”

“It’s too bad it takes so long for trees to get big,” she looked up at the branches that stretched above them. “I want to sit like this with you two every morning.”

“We’ll just have to get something with trees already,” Yunho shrugged. “Then just add to it.”

“At least the place we have now is nice,” she stated, a small smile on her face. “I like that we have space for everyone. It feels like a home at least.”

“It is home,” Mingi pulled her face in for a kiss. “Any place with you two is always home.”

“You’re right,” Yunho nodded. “I think I’m just impatient to get to the part where we have it all figured out.”

“You mean when we are old and retired,” she joked, turning in his lap to be able to look at him. 

Both the boys laughed and Yunho gave a blushing shrug. “I guess I’m optimistic to think we’re just a few years from having everything figured out.”

“I think we’re doing okay,” she assured him. “Maybe figuring it all out is more important than having it all worked out from the start.” She started to scoot out of his lap and Yunho tightened the grip of his arms around her. “I’m not going anywhere, I just want to do something.” He let her go after another seconds pause. She prompted Mingi to turn so he was sitting facing towards Yunho before she scooted into the space between his legs, she slipped off her shoes and crossed her legs. “Can you lie down? Is there enough space?”

“Yeah,” Yunho nodded, a warm sensation blooming in his chest. Laying down on his side, he put his head on the soft pillow of her lap. Her fingers nested in his lovely teal hair, tossling it and running her nails lightly over his scalp. The sensation sent a calming shiver through him and he wrapped his long arms around both their legs.

“Comfortable Yuyu?” She questioned with a smile. He nodded in response, letting out a sigh as he let his eyes close a little. Comfortable didn’t seem like a word deep enough to explain what they offered him. Laying with them was peace and happiness, it was warmth and the surety that everything was right in the world. Their love made everything else inconsequential, it always had. It was the thing in his life he never questioned. He wanted more than anything for the past few days to have never happened; to have never worried that they did.

When her movements paused he opened his eyes seeing her hand reach for her mostly empty coffee cup. The stretch of her arm caught the sleeve of her sweater, pulling it up off her wrist. It was just a flash, just a second before she caught it, feeding the sleeve back down her arm, but it was enough for the bruises to catch Yunho’s eye. Propping himself up on his elbow, he caught her arm and pulled back the fluffy, oversized sweater sleeve. She tried to stop him, tugging her arm back so that she could keep them hidden, but his insistent and gentle grip kept her from doing so.

“I…” he started, a lump closing his throat around the words he wanted to try and say.

“Yeah, they’re from you,” Mingi said, putting his arms around their girl from behind her as she averted her eyes. Yunho looked up to meet his eyes and saw a heat, a challenge he hadn’t ever seen there before as he held her protectively.

“I didn’t mean to…” He shook his head, bringing her hand to his cheek.

“I know,” she soothed, turning her hand to cup his cheek. “I know you never wanted to hurt me.”

“Yes you did,” Mingi interrupted, a sharp edge to his words. “You wanted to hurt her and I should have stopped you and I will if you ever do that again.”

“It’s okay, Mingles,” she reached her other hand to hold Mingi’s arms that were wrapped around her. “It was my fault; I deserved it. He didn’t mean to… not really.”

“No love,” Yunho rushed to correct her, his heart stuttering at the sad guilt that was filling her eyes. “You didn’t deserve anything.” His vision blurred and he tried to blink the burn of tears away. “Even if you did something you never deserve that. I wish I hadn’t…” There was too much that he didn’t know how to say, all the words sticking in his throat. “No matter what you do, I’ll never do that again.” He shook his head, letting it drop into her lap for a moment before he lifted it again to look at her. “Why did you let me touch you like that?”

“Because I deserved it,” she shrugged, giving him an ashamed look. “And I had to show you that I was sorry. We both needed me to hurt and it just… you needed me and I can’t say no if you need me.”

“No babe,” Mingi squeezed her tighter, a softness entering his voice as he spoke to her. “Never again. You didn’t deserve it. I’ll never watch that happen again and I don’t care what I have to do. Never again.”

“Never,” Yunho agreed, putting an apologetic hand on Mingi’s arm near where she held it. “I won’t ever again, but if something ever happens, I want you to protect her no matter what, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mingi nodded at him, a little of the heat of his anger dissipating, leaving only a slight simmer behind his eyes. “No one is ever going to hurt her if I’m there.”

“Thank you,” Yunho lifted himself to his knees and crawled up into their laps, hugging both of them, with her squished between their much larger bodies. He stayed like that for only a moment, certain that his weight would quickly become uncomfortable for her in no time. Pulling back, he guided Mingi’s lips to his, offering him both a thanks and an apology in the gesture. He stayed kneeling in the space just in front of them as he gave a supplicating lick to Mingi’s bottom lip, begging him to let him deepen the kiss. As Mingi acquiesced, Yunho felt her small hands come to rest on his narrow waist as she leaned her head into his chest. Gratefulness at their shared gesture of acceptance filled in around the spikey feeling of guilt that still sat in his chest, making it ever so slightly duller even as it stayed there weighing heavily on his heart. He felt their love with more confidence than any words could have given him.

“Thank you,” he said again, pulling his lips away but leaning his forehead against Mingi’s. “I am so fortunate that you both love me. Even if I don’t always deserve it.”

“We all have things we need to do better,” Mingi admitted, a feeling of pride in himself  rising as he realized that he hadn’t once looked around to wonder what everyone must think of them. Even now, as the thought crossed his mind for the first time, he only thought, anyone who would be anything other than envious of having so much love would have to be living a sad life.

Yunho saw some thought pass over Mingi’s face, leaving a confident angle to his chin and a brightness in his eyes. He wondered, briefly, what it was but only smiled at him as he sat back on his heels, looking at the two loves of his life as they sat together, eyes on him and full of warmth.

“Yuyu,” she said softly, getting his attention. “What snacks did you get us, love?”

“Right,” he nodded, turning to reach for the bag. Out of the bag he pulled three boxed sandwiches, small bags of chips, and little containers of fruit salad and handed a set to each of the other two.

“Really?” She laughed, looking at the food he had handed her, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Hmmmm?” Mingi looked down at the girl sitting between his legs. “What’s funny?”

“I was wondering if you would notice,” Yunho grinned, pulling out cans of soda.

Mingi frowned slightly and looked at the food in his hands. Ham and cheese, fruit salad, chips… there was a little niggling at the back of his mind. There was something there but he couldn’t quite place it.

“Would it help if I said we could meet a little later and read together a little?” She gently patted Mingi’s knee. “Or maybe we should all fall in a lake…”

“Summer camp,” Mingi gasped, his eyes widening excitedly. “I would have never remembered. How did you remember?”

“How could I forget?” Yunho laughed back. “That summer was the start of the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Aww babe,” she laughed, opening the cardboard box that held her sandwich. “This is adorable and sentimental, but if there are better sandwiches next time, you should probably get those.”

“What, are you trying to tell me there are better sandwiches to be had than this classic?” Mingi scoffed from behind her. “Classics can never be replaced.”

“My simple boys with their simple needs,” she laughed, taking a bite.

“You say that like it's a bad thing,” Mingi pouted, drawing his lips into a long line.

“No babe, not at all,” she shook her head, giving him a little bump as she spoke. “It’s just good to remember that it is little things that make you happiest.”

When they had finished eating they made their way along more of the gardens until they reached the large glass and iron greenhouse Mingi had so been looking forward to exploring. Taking a hand of each of the other two, Mingi set off at a lope to the entrance located at the front of the large central domed area. It was a gorgeous building and nearly intimidating in its scale. It somehow managed to give off both a staid and extravagant feel when you looked at it; simple and dignified in its colors but grand in its build.

Stepping inside past the ticket counter they found themselves in a small tropical world. It was warm and moist unlike the outside and felt natural and fresh in its air. The walkway circled a central pond that had a grand display of plants rising out of the water surrounded by large palms of all sorts.

“I wonder how tall it is?” She wondered for the second time during their trip as she stood below a grand dome that seemed larger than it ought to be.

“Wouldn’t it be cool to have something like this that you could visit all the time?” Mingi said, turning slowly in a circle as he took in his surroundings.

“Amazing,” Yunho agreed as he slipped an arm around Mingi’s ribs. Mingi smiled and leaned into the embrace as they both continued to look around.

“Boys, look,” their girl said excitedly as she moved over to one side of the first glass domed room. “Orchids.”

“Wow,” Mingi breathed coming up behind her to take in the long glass hall filled with flowers and plants lining either side of the paving stone walkway. “Look at all the different colors.”

“I bet there are more than we can see from here,” she coaxed as he paused near the entrance.  He nodded and together the three of them stepped in, making their way along the path slowly as they took in all the plants. Bursts of blooms in every shape and color were tucked into every corner of the display. They hung from the branches of the trees and were tucked in among filler plants and in little pots placed on shelves or the ground.

“Yunho,” she turned and asked him as he walked half a step behind them. “Can we have a greenhouse?”

“You want one?” He asked, running his thumb along the side of her neck.

“I want to grow some orchids,” she nodded as she moved closer to a display full of flowers in pink, white, and red. “I want to grow some of these. And maybe some things like the herbs that can’t grow outside in the winter.”

“If you want it, I’ll build it with my own hands if you want,” he nodded. 

“We could have our own jungle?” Mingi asked from beside her.

“Our own little jungle,” Yunho nodded. “Maybe we can sit there in winter and have our breakfasts.”

“Our own forest,” She agreed. “That sounds like home to me.”

“It will be,” Yunho nodded.

“I want to grow them too,” Mingi lifted her up, excitedly bringing her up to a level to better see some yellow orchids that were hanging from a branch nearby. “Let’s have them in every color.”

“I can’t wait,” she laughed. Yunho hugged them both from behind, resting his chin on Mingi’s shoulder as he looked at the flowers with them.

Yunho carried her into the room, having picked her up on his back about a block and a half from the b&b when he saw her yawn. He carefully knelt down, letting her slide off and take a seat on the foot of the bed to remove her shoes. Mingi flung himself on the bed beside her, nuzzling into her cheek.

“Did you have fun today?” she asked, turning to look into his sparkling eyes.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Can we get an orchid when we get home? For practice?”

“Practice?” Yunho grinned, taking a seat near his head. “To make sure we don’t have black thumbs before we invest in a whole greenhouse and all?”

“Yeah,” Mingi grinned. “Seems like a good idea.”

“Mmm, yeah it does,” Yunho agreed as he stroked the top of Mingi’s head. “I know another thing we could practice.”

“Oh?” Mingi said, looking up at him from where he lay.

“Yeah,” Yunho wiggled his eyebrows as he leaned down to take Mingi’s soft lips in an upside down kiss. “Like this. What do you think?” Mingi only grunted in response, bringing his hand up to hold the back of Yunho’s head.

Just as she was about to turn and join her two boys, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw Dad on the caller ID. Hitting the green phone button, she sat up and brought the phone to her ear.

“Hey, dad,” she answered. “What’s up?”

“Hey kiddo,” he replied. “You’re not busy are you?”

“Nah, what’s up?” She shook her head and stood up, moving to look out the window.

“I just wanted to let you know I rented the cabin upstate for the month of July,” He informed her, papers shuffling in the background. “Can you invite San to come? We’d like to have the whole family together for it.”

“Yeah, I can call him when we get off, but,” she turned and looked over her shoulder at the two boys still making out on the bed. “Can Mingi and Yunho come too? I’ve kind of gotten used to having them around all the time.”

“I think we have the space, so that’s fine, I guess,” her father replied after a pause.

“Thanks dad,” she said gently. “Maybe I can actually teach Mingi to canoe properly without getting us all in the water.”

“Good luck, honey,” her dad laughed. “That boy is a bit of a disaster with things like that.”

“Hey,” she returned, feeling the need to defend him even if it was sort of true. “He… tries hard.”

“He does, bless him,” her father let out a laugh on the other end. “He’s a good kid.”

“Yeah, he is,” she agreed.

“You guys having fun there in the big city?” He asked in an almost absent minded way. “Everything has been okay?”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “We went to the botanical gardens today. Do you remember the big tree grandma had in her yard? The one I always really liked?”

“The magnolia?” He replied after a pause. “Yeah I remember it. Why?”

“We saw a bunch of them today at the gardens,” she explained in a wistful tone. “It just reminded me how much I liked it and made me think of her.”

“That tree was beautiful and she always had a few cut in a vase inside whenever it was in bloom,” he reminisced, taking a moment to remember the amazing woman that had been his mother. “She would have liked knowing that magnolias make you think of her.”

“Do you think we could go by her old place and get some seeds from the tree?” She asked quietly. “Maybe see if I can’t get them to sprout?”

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” he admitted. “The people that bought her house were nice enough. If they still own it, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind. In fact, I’ll give them a call when we’re done, if you’d like.”

“That would be nice,” she agreed. “Thanks, dad.”

“Anyway, I won’t keep you,” he sighed. “I just wanted you to send an invite to San for me.”

“I’ll do that tonight,” she promised. “Thanks for calling, dad.”

“Love you, kiddo,” he told her warmly.

“You too,” she replied. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he said a second before his side went silent. Taking the phone away from her ear, she pulled up San’s number, clicking the phone icon to start the call before flopping into the soft armchair.

“Chipmonk, is everything okay?” San said when he answered the phone, having seen that it was her calling.

“Hey, bro,” she said warmly. “Everything is fine; good even. I’m calling with an invitation though.”

“An invitation?” He made an interested sound, a smile clearly in his voice. “Go on, you’ve got my attention.”

“I’m reserving you for the month of July,” she stated flatly but with good humor behind it.

“A month?” He asked in surprise. “What do you need me for a full month for?”

“Vacation,” she laughed. “Dad rented the cabin we get sometimes upstate. He wanted me to bring you along, and I told him you and I come with the boys. So, summer with us. It will be just like camp, but with my brother… and my parents… well okay, on the upside, none of the uncool kids like Laci will be there.”

“I can’t wait,” he replied. “Thanks for the invite, Chipmunk. You know my best summers were always with you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she waved him off. “This summer will be great at least, I promise.”

“I know,” he sighed, a warm smile on his face, even if she couldn’t see it. “You guys are the best family someone could ask for.”

“You know we love you, San,” she reminded him sweetly.

“I know,” he nodded. “I’m so lucky.”

“I’m gonna go but I’ll send you a picture of me looking beautiful tomorrow,” she promised.

“You mean like you always do?” He asked, a grin in his teasing voice.

“Pfft,” she snorted. “You flatter me, but I’m gonna look so good for the dinner tomorrow. It will knock your socks off.”

“Love, of you looking good removed my footwear,” he scolded. “Then I would never have them on.”

“Ugh,” she rolled her eyes. “You can save that flattery for whenever you get a girlfriend or something. But I’ll send you a pic of all of us together at least.”

“I can’t wait,” he chuckled.

“Okay,” she sighed. “I’m gonna go, but I miss you. I’ll see you soon, okay? Take care of yourself.”

“Love you, Chipmunk,” San said with all the affection he felt in his heart.

“Love you, too, big bro,” she returned with equal love.

Masterlist

Boss Witch (m)

PAIRING ⇁ jimin x reader 

WORD COUNT ⇁ 6.1k | smut, angst, action | 4-part series

SUMMARY ⇁ Jimin, the clumsy apprentice of a mighty sorceress, becomes a sudden gentleman-in-jeopardy.

warnings ⚠️ sexual use of magic, subby jimin, dom!reader, breath & power play, swearing, graphic description, mommy kink, painslut!jimin, begging, TW blood, crying, choking

↳ NOTE: i am vastly obsessed with abandoned buildings, that ended up being the inspiration for the story.

There's an unusually low cloud forming over the amusement park.

It's so massive and dark that the towers of the rollercoaster disappear.

Lightning in the distance makes it hard to focus on any work. The wind had been tough on the rugged buntings in the garden all day, but you've never seen a storm front as gigantic as this one.

Last year, a cyclone passed the Northern area of the city, but the sky had been grey — not black all over. The rain comes once the sun has vanished completely, and outside there's nothing but darkness.

You worry about Jimin.

He's out there playing. Maybe collecting something like you told him earlier.

In any other case, you would simply close the blinds and read. But now that the lightning approaches, you're uneasy in your seat at the window.

By the time you pace around imagining how he tries to get home, but ends up cornered by heavy rain and thunder, the decision is set. You'll go out there and get him yourself.

After kicking off your shoes, you crank the door open and step outside barefoot.

The rain lands anywhere but on your gown.

Both towers of the rollercoaster loom afar, engulfed by mist already. You know it will get worse, so you hasten your steps.

Mud is everywhere. All grass is gone. The wind tousles your hair more every time much like the rain is becoming relentless, turning the mud into grimy water with chunks of wood in it. So far, the trees elsewhere didn't survive this very well like they usually would.

The park might not have trees, but you can still tell by the wind that this is not nature's work.

It's too strong, too cutting. It doesn't sound normal, either.

Judging by the scale of the cloud, it must overarch the majority of the city. But the focal point appears to be right above.

Jimin is nowhere to be seen or heard, how could he be. Crawling haze emerges from the ground and booming thunder resound from every direction. You browse the shooting galleries and run-down rococo carousel.

Not a trace. No melody, no movement. Only the gushing of rain creates a rhythm on the carousel's roof of painted metal.

You call for him twice now, but no answer returns from the obscure plaza.

The arcade and the casino are empty, too. Instead, most of their ground floor is completely flooded. The doors have remained intact which comes to your surprise.

But a lot of window frames, flags, chairs, and tables are splayed out demolished all around. A slot machine tipped over in another corner, and playing snooker would mean getting one's knees horrendously wet.

A dozen teddy bears float on top of the water elsewhere. Some small, some oversized. Grey stuffing peaks out of their ripped up bellies.

You leave the patio of the arcade devastated yourself. Had Jimin only been inside on the first floor saying he had forgotten time.

What if he's trapped somewhere.

A myriad of other questions pose themselves while you turn to search the restrooms, but pick up a creaking noise before you can get there. It's a dull and lifeless tone that makes you turn.

It came from the Ferris wheel.

Please, not there. He can't be up there. He'll die.

You shout.

"Where are you?"

Silence. Only thunder continues. The mist obfuscates the entire scene by now while a sole wayward lantern by the restroom door brings a bit of clarity. The rain pounds against the side of the building and it becomes deafening, but still: Your coat remains dry.

Merely the cold reaches your finger tips, but doesn't dare to venture any further. What is does instead is make the mud a lot stiffer underneath your feet.

You proceed to the wheel following the lantern's ray, walking the path as if it was by fate or design.

A voice, then, reaches your ear when the wind turns.

"Mom!"

It's his. You can't identify the direction.

"Jimin! Come!"

The creaking noise is back.

"Help me, mommy!"

His scream reverberates in the darkness. Something is off. It must be the wheel, it can't be anything else.

There's one antique red cabin dangling close to the peak where you can see a little arm waving. Its movement is so frantic that you have to look twice.

The Ferris wheel has only sixteen capsules and it had to be this one right at the top. You told him not to climb around there.

Again, you can hear him.

"Stuck—!"

The wind swallows the other words. But it's already obvious what the problem is.

You extend your left index finger. Pointed at the wheel, you assume the familiar position. Two feet planted firmly on the ground, shoulder's width. Right palm on the heart to connect with its beat.

The words are deliberate even if the wind carries them far past the horizon.

"Bend to my will."

Another creak. Several ones, this time. The steel, even though it hesitates, ends up following the circular motion of your hand. Even if it rattles and churns, the wheel moves. Slowly.

You can feel how heavy the iron is in your chest. The red gondola approximates about half past the peak that the entire plaza is engulfed in an uproar.

You can't see anything. It's too bright. Panic.

Then, the familiar black sky returns.

The distraction interrupted your movement. So now, the wheel is starting to spin dangerously fast. Without your control, the impetus starts having a shrieking and droning mind of its own.

Jimin's voice oscillates back and forth in your ears pleading.

It's a desperate cry, and you can't see where it's coming from anymore.

The red color of the capsule blends with green, blue, yellow, purple, into nothing short of a grey blur on the plaza.

Twenty years spent and it all ends. Now you're going to lose him.

You only have one last idea.

If it fails, he's dead faster. If it works—

Snap go your fingers, twice. Within seconds, a fuzzy white dot flies across the patio. An arch so high the cloud tangents, a plunge so steep that all you feel is an immediate sting of regret. As if in contempt, the wheel just keeps spinning. It sneers.

Failure.

With a heavy heart, you head to the one feasible spot assuming the dot landed there after plummeting straight to the ground behind the casino. It's almost been an hour since you left the place at the window. Still, the rain won't stop. It didn't work.

This is your heaviest loss so far.

The lantern merely flickers at this point. It makes the patio feel darker than the gruesome cloud. A singular puddle comes into your focus, seeing how something had disrupted the area. Nothing moves. There is no life as you expected, just a pile of dirt, wood, and rusty chairs. But as you step close, there is a sign. Just a small movement.

Now, you hurry, elated. Only to pry a mewling cat from a puddle just beside the arcade, stained in mud from tail to paw, gyrating — thankfully. Whatever you did missed the spot, but still, it lives. It really does. Just as planned, the cat landed on all fours.

It clings to you in an instance and curls up shivering. Impossible to tell whether of freight or cold, both even. You just want to hold it close forever. Ten, eleven, twelve, how many times do you roam your hands over its legs and backbone to feel if everything is where it should be. What every book of yours would call implausible has happened right before your eyes.

The Ferris wheel gradually slows its pace while you turn to walk past the casino, cat tucked neatly inside your cloak, back to where you came from through the storm. Lightning illuminates the way, but the park is all too familiar already. There's a deep purr at your chest, tail peaking out at an opening between two of the silver buttons lined up at the front of the black garment. How bizarre this is already, but now you're walking home with a feline in your cleavage, barefoot, with a coat so warm and dry that it might have been inside on its cozy hanger all the time.

The theatre is still standing at least. It's audible from the outside that the shabby 1960s piano plays a melody on its own in the foyer. Chopin, Nocturne in E-flat major. The sound subsides around the first half because a few keys are missing.

After passing the box office, you open the doors to the familiar scent of corrosion and moth powder backstage. Both kicked-off shoes are right where you left them, but you won't bother putting them on again.

Maybe you can get used to the air in here one day. It's always just the difference of returning from outside to the inside that you notice it. Jimin has tried so many things to change it, but to no avail. Gladly, the bathroom is somewhat neutral in its smell when you enter.

Mewling again, the tomcat scrambles to stay in your arms, but the tub is already filling with water. You plant the ragged fur ball in the middle where there's foam crowning the surface ever so slightly.

You make sure that the water won't rise too much and stick a hand in, checking for temperature. It's hard to estimate given how the chilling wind outside has numbed your fingers, but the fur ball stays in place without complaints as long as your hand lingers nearby and stirs the bubbles. Only thunder makes it wince. A soft sponge comforts it, having you buff both cheeks and belly with care until some of the mud comes off.

It doesn't take long until the foam piles up left and right. It's time, you decide, and two more snaps of your fingers turn the cat's purr into a fuller timbre. The fur flattens, the legs get bigger. They branch out into more muscular limbs while the tail coils up and then disappears. Both pointed ears turn into rounded, dainty ones. Paws tainted by mud give way to petite toes. Long and thick black hair sprouts where once cropped fur stood upright soiled. Front paws elongate into beringed fingers framed by the seam of an old parka.

Once the transformation is completed, you get a giant towel from a wobbly bronze tray at the sink. Not giant giant, but still rather large. You let the water rise again until a lethargic Jimin is completely soaked and hugged by foam. A bit more scrubbing with the sponge and you think he might have found his words again. It always takes a couple minutes.

You sit down at the edge of the tub and work half a palm of herbal shampoo through his hair.  

"Everything okay?" you ask, facing two dark and twinkling eyes from behind the bubbly mountains.

Downcast, Jimin murmurs as if not to drown out the rain by his volume.

"Won't do that again."

The neutral scent in the bathroom gradually changes to something more flowery. It's got a bit of basil and thyme in it, too. The theatre's walls still shake under a few oncoming gusts of wind, but none of the cold air manages to creep inside just now. Jimin ends up purring a bit under the circling and twirling motions of your fingers, but catches himself in the act.

"Lightning hit the casino," you wipe away some of the grime on his face. "Sorry for messing up the bending spell. Your nose's bloody here. Hurts?"

"Tissue will do, it's not broken. And you didn't mess up much, really."

Jimin kind of likes trying out a heat charm on himself when you sit down with him to watch TV. The air magic book is lost on you, but after teaching him how to read it, Jimin has acquired a fair lot of spells. A little spark alights between his fingers when he says the words, remembering to place one hand on his bottom lip while guiding the warmth with the other.

You watch from the oaken armchair with fairy faces carved on its sides, faces who had seen three generations of witches pass it on. Jimin warms up his clothes and hair while your favorite show runs, one of the older episodes when the cast was funnier and the wit more sophisticated.

The tube TV is buzzing in the old enameled cupboard where you keep most of all books and two backup crystal balls. One having less density, the other more solid but less polished which would always turn out to be a nuisance. Well, there is a reason they are backups.

You placed them close to the television hoping they would improve the ever-so-shitty signal anyways. Knowing the theatre was fairly remote and the park generally as desolate as it could be, perhaps a bit of magic would give technology a hand and the five available channels would follow suit.

Jimin still preferred the cauldron, and you doubted he could use level three magic to get even the low density one to work.

He's on the chunky suede sofa, a makeshift handkerchief twirled into his nostrils. All busy moaning about how the clouds block the usually splendid view to the countryside. You got him tea before emptying the pockets of his parka, one of his favorite jasmine blends. The pockets are quite heavy, making you wonder where he had been around the funfair to collect their contents.

"Look. These are good." You align a couple of empty snail shells on your lap. "Almost too many, really."

"Could've spent less time out there, I guess."

Jimin is chewing on the inside of his cheek, staring outside the window. You go on crushing the shells in a mortar, but leave one particularly beautiful specimen untouched on your lap.

"I'll let that slide. But next time you come home from the carousel, you'll be early as usual, Jimin, 8PM. I've never been this worried since 800 years."

"I'm sorry, mom. And thank you."

Mom. You had always found it funny when he called you that at first. Or odd, if you admitted it. That was never the plan. You thought of more fitting alternatives for him to use, but after he persisted, that too you would let slide. If it would give him peace and certainty, then you'd bat two eyes instead of one.

"The Weather Witch Directorate. They are experimenting again, it seems."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Tell them that Fridays are a bad time to cast a thunder charm at the next best occasion!"

"Well fuck, what are they up to?"

"When magic is out of balance, it needs a discharge."

He's scrunching his nose at that.

"Discharge? I thought someone just has a grudge!"

"They wouldn't dare. And why make such a huge storm front all over the city just to tease us. You can't imagine the effort this took. That needs at least nineteen witches. All Level four or four and a half, something like that."

"That's true."

"I'm not so unpopular either recently. Haven't heard anyone complain about the adoption for quite a long time. I think a lot of them really like you. They heard you're making progress."

You put away the mortar covered with the ground shells inside and get a little leather string to attach to the one shell that's left. You give it to Jimin and he puts it around his neck.

"Should you ever be in danger again, touch the pendant. I'll feel it. What were you doing in the gondola, anyways? You didn't see the black clouds coming, from up there? Jimin, you're one of the best junior magicians I've ever seen. You couldn't possibly overlook it."

He bats his eyes now. The strands of his hair fall into his face so you can't see his expression. He doesn't bother brushing them behind his ear like he usually does. They're dry already.

"What's wrong, Jiminie?"

He fumbles with the hem of his jeans.

"I was a bit... uh, lonely."

"Taemin's always here for the weekends. And Fridays!"

"I don't want to play with him."

"You don't like Taemin anymore?"

"No, that's not what I mean. You wouldn't understand."

"Jimin, what have you been doing on the wheel? Remember what we have here."

"Honesty policy."

"So?"

"Err, I got a bit carried away doing something. I'm sorry."

"Something?"

He mumbles into the curtain of his hair so you can't hear.

"What, who put up a shelf?"

He repeats, louder, voice shaky.

"No. I was... touching myself."

Jimin swallows hard.

"Why would you completely forget about the damn world around you! It's not so hard, jerking off or not!"

"It, it was hard. Like the book said."

That book. Sexual Education for Young Wizards Volume 3. A 560 pages strong encyclopedia that was initially circulated as a joke among some witches, but gained huge popularity.

It ended up being rewritten in earnesty, with more demand even asking for a third volume. Which was the one you decided would be best to pick to spare him from the awkwardness of the second or first volume. It wasn't just for born wizards, but also gifted human practitioners. You locked some chapters in his rendition with a guardian spell, but masturbation wasn't among them. It was quite a large chapter with tips and tricks, including charms for stamina, chastity, and a separate section detailing all of female masturbation, too, and how one could assist it.

You completely forgot about the book after giving it to him some time ago. He brought up this and that in conversation, but mostly you were sure the text was extensive enough to cater to each query he had save the later chapters. The ones with asphyxiation and getting stepped on. You sort of left him to his own devices after the questions stopped, and knew he would try things he liked responsibly. Nothing of concern had happened. Until today.

"Jimin. I meant it wasn't difficult to just keep an eye on the weather even if you got carried away."

"I was too... focused."

"Were you using one of the Level two spells?"

He nods.

"For witches' sake!"

Nobody writing that book would have figured how 'responsible' magic would be rendered useless once it wasn't practiced in the safety of one's sheets but on top of a Ferris wheel. Level two is relatively harmless magic as long as one would wield it on the ground. But height ultimately wouldn't do any charm, well, any good. Especially within a thunderstorm of Level 4 sorcery.

"Why, out of all places, there?" you ask.

"I thought it's where you couldn't hear me."

Your face immediately falls into a deadpan.

"Do I care if you groan in your room about Taemin? You can do whatever you want, Jiminie. I don't judge. Unless it kills you, do you get me?"

"It wasn't Taemin."

Now you just blink at him.

"What's with that, it wasn't Taemin?"

"I went there because I caught myself saying something else."

"Which was?"

"Your name."

"What!"

"And, that thing. Cho, um, choking. When I think about you... doing it, I get too loud and my spells turn out a little, I don't know, weird."

Now you realize. The guardian spells in the book were timed ones.

They would fade when he would turn a certain age, or vanish once he unlocked them by practicing a previous chapter until completion.

Knowing Jimin, he would do it in record time to disable the majority of the locks. The new, heavier last chapters might have made him feel a bit reckless. And remembering how Jimin worked the cauldron in your presence for the first time even, he would get into detail bit by bit.

But could you blame him. You picked the book for him to study, you installed the guardian spells so that they could be altered just by how ambitious one was. Sexual charms were part of the course on bio magic that Jimin desperately wanted to know about. And he was turning 20.

The age where any apprentice would get seriously interested in a witch or wizard. But given that there was nobody else around and Taemin's flirting apparently went past him—

"Your spells get weird, what happened?

"It felt better than when I usually do it."

"When you thought about you, me, I mean. Me, me choking, uh, you?"

"Yes. Why are you sweating?"

"Jimin, that's..."

"Hey, honesty policy!" he chirps.

"That's a longer story."

"You have to tell it. I did my part."

"It's about my ability. Not the spells, my natural skill. The one I told you needs no charms to cast."

At that, his eyes light up like charcoal glimmers in the morning ash at the cauldron.

"Wow, really? I never saw you exercising it!"

"It's because I am capable of something that nobody likes, Jimin."

"But, didn't you say everyone is talented at doing some kind of good magic?"

"The reverse is true, too."

"Oh..."

"I happen to be that person with a natural skill of it. Have you ever wondered why we don't interact with other magicians and mortals?"

"Come on, Taemin should still count!"

"He's just our delivery boy."

"But he used to do magic! He told me so many times!"

"Before the hand accident. Taemin barely belongs in either category now. He's not human like you. And he's not a sorcerer. His magic is completely, say... neutralized. It's rare."

That it would put him squarely in the middle was the only reason why he could drop by, and that was hard to come to terms with. Anybody else wouldn't do so well setting foot in the park.

"I only communicate long-distance with witches and wizards", you add. "My magic is too disturbing for those who are sensitive to sorcery. Meaning, all people."

"Why? It's not disturbing, that's not you. But, it must be powerful, isn't it?"

"Surely is."

"I knew it! I knew it! How does it work, then?"

He comes over from the sofa and props down next to your calves like he was still in cat form. Jimin coos, nestling with the long seam of your coat.

"Don't mess around here now, Jimin. I wanna go on watching TV."

"Mommy, please show me how it works. Honesty, remember!"

"I've prepared your bed long ago. There's more tea in the kitchen, too. Take that with you. I demonstrate it when I think that the time is right."

"Please, I'm dying to know! And everyone who doesn't follow the policy has to clean the toad's pond on Mondays!"

You sigh, store away the snail shell powder. Jimin gets his parka back and uses a floating charm to bring the teapot into the living room. This time, he doesn't spill a single drop. Outside, the thunder is still rumbling.

You fill an embellished purple cup with the tea and recline in the armchair, causing one of the fairy faces to utter a little giggle before falling silent again.

"There's a special reason why I was elected head of the Witch Council."

"I know, you're the boss! And why, then? Special?"

"My magic is the most potent among all governing witches. But also the most dangerous and harmful. When the Council meets, only my projection is there to advise the other sorceresses. I can't get closer than ten miles. The power imbalance would be too severe."

There is a reason why the cloud is the darkest over the park and not elsewhere. That is, right above your heads. Discharge.

"I am by birth the only witch able to use what is referred to as: pain magic."

"Pain magic?"

"Full range, Level five and possibly above."

Lightning strikes one tower of the rollercoaster. The foundation of the theatre echoes it long after.

"Level five! What, what does it do?"

"Well, it hurts. Anything."

"And how?"

"I adhere to the codex, I cannot tell nor demonstrate that to a mortal."

"I'm not a mortal anymore, you taught me how to use my talents!"

"The codex also says that gifted people are exempt. It doesn't matter which Level they can exercise."

"What's the reason for it?"

"It's not so difficult. All the codex does is protect you."

"How patronizing it that!"

"Matronizing, if anything. The rule was made by witches."

"I know, but I wanted to see how it looks like! Please, please, it sounds amazing!"

Jimin's curiosity. It'll be the death of him.

You pick up the teapot and take out the little sieve attached inside, placing the tea leaves in your palms. As they settle, all green fades only to be replaced by brown, then grey. Jimin stares with his mouth agape.

"My magic finds a living thing's, a person's weak spot and torments it indefinitely. It draws out life energy. Since it's my natural skill, I can't just seal it away or not use it. It works with bare hands and never stops. No spell can inhibit it either. It's just about keeping it as low level as possible, which I can do."

"Really, no spell?"

"These are magic tea leaves, right?"

"Yeah, sure?"

"You would need to use a complex bio magic charm to disintegrate them like this. But I didn't do much now."

Jimin extends his hand for you to place the remaining two crumbs of the leaves in it.

"Is that all that's really left...?"

"Have you ever noticed how no plant is growing around here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Most wildlife in this area is sensitive to pain magic, too. I kill nature wherever I go, seeds mould away when I walk. Even rain won't touch me. There is no way of doing anything against it. When you said choking..."

"I thought—"

"It reminded me of how much I could hurt you, Jimin."

"But mom, can't you touch me?"

"That's the paradox. You are the only person I know who didn't wane. It is no coincidence you're my first ever apprentice. You're gifted, but that's not really why. But sure, it may be one of the reasons. I always thought it had something to do with that."

"I don't get it, that you can touch me?"

"I would guess so. A normal human would collapse. That's why I keep everyone at a distance. I was fortunate you came my way. I'd never try to purposefully show my skill to you because of it. Whatever the full range might be, because nobody really knows."

The tea has turned cold. Jimin doesn't bother with the heat spell. Instead, he hugs your legs from where he sits. It's not as expected, the embrace is hardly suave like a cat's now. He's really plump, his arms are big. He trains a lot.

He holds up his arm again, the crumbled tea leaves falling off his hand.

"I still want you to show me. If it's as low as possible now and I don't feel it..."

"The problem is, my character changes."

"Ooh, exciting!"

"It's not."

He rolls up his sleeve.

"I've known you for so long. I really trust you. Use it as punishment for me staying out too long."

You tug at the cuffs of your coat, thinking. The codex doesn't encourage it. But it also doesn't forbid it either. And if he pleads for it to get even?

A fairy snickers from the back of the chair, making the armrests vibrate. You want it to shut up, but it keeps on chortling anyway.

Well. Honesty policy doesn't just mean honest words. Honest actions, too. It's not because Jimin is very good at convincing you if you already ponder the option.

Finally, you exhale.

"I need your chest bare. It hurts the least when there is heart magic to counteract."

"Isn't heart magic what you always use?"

"Yes, even today with the wheel. It might be a bit depleted, at least I hope so. That actually helps."

"Let's do this!"

"Slow it, there's a whole process behind that. Remember your new pendant instead."

You unclothe him noticing how well he had cast the heat charm even if he dresses like... a walking onion with a gazillion layers. The parka, then his denim jacket first. He got it downtown the other day, and has not left it at home since. It has a lot of whimsical pockets all over so Jimin can keep a couple of feathers, stones, and petite flasks with potions inside. He keeps it all organized unlike his room where he refuses to throw out the pile of props and mirrors.

No, this jacket is the complete opposite indeed. Underneath, as always, is the cashmere sweater that had been your gift for his 19th birthday. It had been a small party, but Jimin would let confetti rain from his sleeves by accident because he got so excited.

Even if it's already starting to wear out at the hems, even if the cashmere is close to turn into actual felt because the surface had to handle so much friction from other clothes, he will refuse to get a new one. "I'll wear it until it falls apart". It's a bit tricky to pull it over his head because the long hair gets in the way.

And Jimin loves his tin-forged jewelry, the leather strings and beads and crystals. The new necklace, too. They all stay on because you like how they look around his neck, and adorn his chest alongside the tattoos. Not that he'd ever put them off anyways.

The tissue that you pull from his nose is almost spotless, but you're too nervous to take note of it.

When Jimin's last tank top and the TV is off, eventually you can clear the area from the armchair, the table, also shoving the sofa a few inches back toward the wall. He reclines to lie down on the carpet with the weaved-in flat gems, mostly quartz, jade, and agate. His hair fans out on the carpet like a halo, even wavering a bit to intertwine with the woven threads.

That's what he taught himself the other day just for fun. More air magic, of course. The majority of the witches in the council say that their apprentices would rather mingle in bars to get roaring drunk on potion and booze instead of advancing to Level two and finding interesting things to do in abandoned amusement parks.

Observing his breath, his smooth torso, you see how Jimin freezes a little. He does well wearing at least five layers each day. But now, you wouldn't dare to make him use a heat charm. Instead, you kiss his forehead as you would do when singing lullabies for him. Back then, he was still at Level one and couldn't climb on the carousel.

"Are you sure?"

"M-hm!"

"Keep your arms on the carpet if possible, okay. Stay grounded."

There's not much more preparation necessary. You concentrate the lowest dose on one thumb. But it's hard to focus it there. It simply flows. The spot where you tattooed him at the center of his chest is where you graze the tip of the finger ever so languidly. It's the image of a sailing boat, facing the horizon sun and parting waves without effort.

It was an honorary tattoo eventually approved by the Council, lending Jimin better ability to channel heart magic. He was already very good at it when you carved it into him with a wand. He said it didn't hurt one bit leaving everyone astonished. Again, you knew he was the only person.

But now that you raise the frequency of the pain, even he would feel it. You are sure. Nobody was ever safe. Even Taemin would often say he'd get a massive headache after spending an afternoon at the amusement park, gone in a second the minute he came home. You knew Jimin would be no different. But still, you place the thumb over his heart. Right where the anchor of the sailing boat is, dangling by a heavy chain.

Jimin contorts on the carpet in growing convulsions. He's crying blood. All of his hair wets again because the heat charm reverses, and roughens against the carpet in frizzy, trickling strands. You try to bend down to soothe him, caressing his cheeks, his arms, his sides in desperation. But a mighty impulse takes over. The energy keeps on streaming through your hands without mercy. Trying to hoist him up is a mistake, a grave one. You only see his pained expression becoming stronger.

He is fighting against the heavy stab trying to clasp his chest. It had been of no use to tell him: stay grounded. The mud reemerges on his hands and face, a large brown patch on his arm where he spilled red hot potion on five years ago. You know why. He has to use up all his energy to resist, and all other charms must break. He cries and cries, and the carpet goes into creases before you when he curls himself up sidewards.

You won't fight for much longer, motherfucker.

There's that voice inside you. The dreaded voice. You hate it. All the time you had hoped it would not emerge again. You shouldn't have agreed to lay a hand on Jimin even the tiniest bit in the first place. He's still winding and sobbing. You want to hold him so bad now, but your hands are in paralysis. You realize: they pierced his heart.

Hurt him. More.

You want the voice to go.

That's not even a quarter of what he can take.

You didn't hear it for almost three decades. The memory was the only thing you wanted to take into the new century. And that was already hard to bear enough.

But it keeps on speaking.

Punish the shit out of him. He deserves it. Mess him up, put that thumb down again. He begs and jerks off to you, what more can you want. He got so loud. Imagine that in your own bed.

No. Jimin is in so much pain. You won't do anything. You won't touch him, not even once.

You think it's a coincidence he likes choking? Your boy has good intuition. He already knows what your hands are capable of. He wants it bad.

You snap your fingers twice, but nothing happens. Jimin remains on the carpet as he is. A hastened calming charm — too, is useless, leaving your hands empty where you would usually see a russet squirrel emerge to hop around the place, chanting and prancing until the situation had resolved itself. In the meantime, Jimin begins to salivate on the carpet with his eyes rolling back into their reddened sockets. You turn to get out of the room. Run, run as far as possible. If even bio magic doesn't work, there is no hope.

You only want to run because you, you! You think it hurts him. Does it, really? Face the truth. You'd chokefuck him any minute for the thrill.

Past the sofa, the armchair.

Like a rag doll.

Past the table, the cupboard.

Remember, you wrote the book yourself.

Even further. You need to run further. Escape from the theatre even when the world outside is a puddle of dirt, ripped up teddy bears, and more dirt.

Didn't you tattoo him in that spot just because you like his collarbones? Why did you give him all these necklaces? You're 900 years old. But still a virgin cause no dick on the entire planet could survive a second inside of you. And on that floor? The single most able boy to get your horny ass off. What are you going to do about it? You're perfectly clear about what you REALLY want.

The voice is now booming inside your brain like thunder. When you get to the door and press its brass handle, the volume is a staggering crescendo, almost unbearable. Your hands remain buzzing with energy. The room is upside down. It's all tilted. The TV switches itself back on again, but only shows a blacked out screen while a brittle voice presents the news from yesterday. More people have diabetes. Another dead person after a wizard couldn't tame a charm. Good weather forecast only. The lotto numbers are 27, 3, 18—

Chopin plays in the foyer again.

The crystal balls burst in their spots, sending splinters darting through the room. The teapot shatters to dust, rendered a cloud of ground china. Jimin's saliva pools at the ceiling while the voice drowns everything in an ugly shriek.

What are you going to do about it!

Until you hear Jimin cough. Several times, and it's bloody.

"Mom, mom. Don't leave me. Fuck me, please, mom. Fuck me, fuck me..."

Told you so.

— Sequel parts linked in masterlist.

Thank you for reading! | Do not repost or translate my works. © submissive-bangtan. All rights reserved.

[ SasuHinaMonth Day Thirty: Flower Shop AU ] [ @sasuhinamonth ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Uchiha Manami, Hyūga Hiashi, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina, death mention ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ]

Hinata’s love of flowers started when she was but a little girl. Though the memories are fuzzy with both the passage of time, and the young age they were formed, those of her mother in her flower garden are some of her fondest: of both her childhood, and her mother.

Hyūga Hanako had been a quiet, docile person, much preferring plants to people. Their backyard had been littered with grow beds and flowering trees, all kept by the house’s matriarch. With her husband handling work and she being a stay at home mother, she’d spent every spare moment behind the house, tending to the flora with a tender touch.

Hinata had always accompanied her. Much the same in nature as her mother, the private, quiet work suited her. Early on, she learned how to care for them, helping to pull weeds and water. Hanako taught her that you could always whisper your secrets to the flowers, and they would never tell.

Spring was just on the brink of blooming when her mother went into labor with her little sister: something the lot of them had been eagerly awaiting for months. Another bloom for the garden, Hanako had said.

But this flower, sadly, took far too much energy to sprout...and in the end, Hanako’s wilted to make way for Hanabi.

The loss was devastating to them both: Hinata, and Hiashi. The snow-dusted gardens at the rear of the house were too much. So once wife and mother was buried...Hiashi took his girls across town, to another house. The sprawling lawn behind it was simply...grass. A few evergreen trees. But no traces of flowers. Such things were far too painful a reminder for the man.

Hinata, however, missed them dearly.

In one of her early classes of primary school, they were assigned to grow a seed. Hinata had received a carnation: carefully watering it in the little pot in class. Once the assignment was over, they were free to take the flowers home. She’d done so eagerly, putting the little plant in her bedroom window.

Her father never visited her bedroom, anyway.

Over the years, the plant grew...eventually becoming too crowded in its pot. A spare still kept in the garage had done the trick, but every few years, she had to figure out a new solution. And this time, the Summer after her senior year, she faces a bit of a dilemma.

By now, the plant is, admittedly, huge. It sits in a large tub in one corner of her room, standing (tub included) at nearly four feet tall, and the same in width. It needs yet another repotting, but with her due to move to a dorm in the Fall for university...Hinata isn’t sure she can take it with her. After all, dorm rooms aren’t known for being spacious.

But, leave it behind, and it’s sure to suffer neglect. Her father has come to know of it by now, but she doubts he’d pay it any mind, even if asked. Hanabi just...isn’t a plant person. And Hinata isn’t sure she’d keep her kitten out of it, even if she relays the risk of a sick kitty should she ingest any of the leaves.

So, today she heads to the nearest floral shop, mind full of doubts. She can’t ask any friends to take it: they face the same problem, come Fall, about space. And she doesn’t want to simply get rid of it - there’s been too much love, and too many whispered secrets, to betray her floral friend that way.

Stepping into the shop, there’s a pleasant jingle of a brass bell announcing her arrival. A few other customers mill about, considering this vase or that bouquet. Perusing the room, Hinata wilts as she realizes pots big enough for her beauty seem to be missing.

“Can I help you with something?”

Turning to the voice, Hinata finds a woman not much taller than herself standing nearby, donned in a dark green apron with the shop’s name sewn across the top. Dark hair is pulled into a messy bun, a warm, lopsided smile on her face. A name tag reads “Manami: manager”.

It takes Hinata moment to realize that her left lower leg is a prosthetic.

“Oh, um...do you not carry any plant pots bigger than this…?” Hinata gestures to the largest they seem to have.

“Oh, those would be outside, in the back. All of our larger inventory is out there. Like...wheelbarrows, full-size planters, et cetera. Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“Well, I have a houseplant that’s getting a little big for their current setup.”

“Really? Even for these?”

“Really! I’ve had them for…” Hinata counts for a moment. “...nine years? A carnation I had to grow for a class when I was young.”

“Oh, I see!” Manami heaves a laugh, hands on her hips. “I can imagine how big they must be, then!”

“Yeah...too big, really.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I’m moving out this Fall for school, and...I can’t take them with me. But I’m afraid no one will take care of them while I’m gone. My...father is very adverse to flowers.”

A dark brow perks. “...can’t say I’ve ever met someone who actually dislikes flowers. Maybe those allergic, but...who can dislike a flower?”

Hinata tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “They, um...they remind him of my mother. We lost her when I was four, and...I think he just doesn’t like being reminded.”

Understanding tempers Manami’s gaze. “Ah, I see...well, that’s certainly a pickle…” A thoughtful hand rubs at her chin. “Well...tell you what. I happen to have a corner behind the counter that gets plenty of sun, but is rather empty. I could probably keep them back there for you!”

The offer takes Hinata aback. “Wait...you would...do that?”

“Well certainly! I have my own collection about that I keep up in the shop - helps it feel a bit more homey.” A dark eye winks. “I can’t let such a beloved plant companion go unattended while you’re gone! They won’t be any more work than the rest. I’ll send my nephew with you - he can pick the plant up. He has to do all the heavy lifting,” she adds, patting her leg. “But once your friend is in place, they can stay there until you can take them back. They’ll be in good hands, I promise.”

Blinking, it takes her a moment to reply. “I...thank you so much! Are you sure it’s no trouble…?”

“None at all! I don’t have a carnation, myself - they’ll give us a little variety! Let me go fetch my nephew - he’ll help you. Sounds like it’ll be a job getting them over here!”

A little nervous at being a nuisance, Hinata shyly follows as Manami makes her way through the back door. As she said, all of their larger products are out in a gravel back lot - fountains, cement decorations, lawn furniture...and extra-large planters.

“Why don’t you pick out a planter, and we’ll get that all paid for before you bring them over here. Then we’ll just re-pot them and set them up in that sunny spot!”

“O-okay!”

They split ways, Hinata picking out a lilac-shade pot that should give them plenty of room until she’s done with school. By the time she’s done that, Manami returns with a young man in tow.

A young man she knows.

“My nephew, Sasuke - he helps out during the Summers.” Manami pats him on the shoulder. “He can buzz up in my car, and we’ll bring that bloomy beauty down here for you!”

The younger pair give each other a glance, clearly wondering what the other is doing here. “...I’ll meet you around front,” Sasuke offers, moving toward a parked van.

“O...okay.” Well...this is awkward. She walked here, after all. Unless he wants to wait for her to walk all the way back...she’ll probably have to hitch a ride.

Hinata knows of Sasuke, though...that’s a little hard to avoid in the school they’re in. Or, were in. He’d been one of the ‘cool kids’ that her friends always drooled over. They’ve never really spoken until now.

She leaves her paid-for planter behind, and fidgets as Sasuke pulls around to the curb. “Get in.”

There’s a tick of silence, and then she does as asked. “Um...thank you for doing this.”

“No problem. Aunty explained what’s going on. She’s a bit of a hoarder.”

In spite of herself, Hinata gives a light laugh. “Well...it’s very nice of her to do. Though...I’m not sure how to explain what I’m doing to my father…” She’s never had a boy in the house before. But she’s eighteen, darn it - surely he won’t cause a scene. If only it were a weekday, he’d be at work…

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll just tell him the truth.”

“The truth is just a little odd, is all.”

“Well, doesn’t really matter what he thinks. We’ll be in and out in a few minutes.”

Pulling up in front of her house, they abandon the van and walk in, Hinata scoping out for her father. Should she tell him beforehand, or just explain if he catches them?

“Where’s it at?”

“In, um...in my room. This way.” Down the hall they go, opening the door and revealing the plant in question. “Are you sure it won’t be too heavy…?”

“It’ll be fine.” Scooting a few things out of the way, Sasuke gives a grunt and simply...scoops the plant up, pot and all.

...well all right then.

Leading the way back out, Hinata pauses as they meet Hiashi at the end of the hall.

He stares.

“Um…” Hinata flounders, unsure how to explain.

“We’re adopting your daughter’s plant, sir.”

Both Hyūga turn to look at Sasuke, hardly visible behind the pot and leaves.

Hiashi perks a brow. “...I suppose there are worse things you could do. But why rid yourself of it?”

“I...well...I don’t w-want it to get left behind when...when I move out.”

“You could -” The man pauses, and then abandons the sentence. “...very well. Do take care not to spill any dirt on the carpet.”

“No, sir,” Sasuke assures.

They make it outside without a hitch, setting the planter in the rear of the car. “All right...now we’ll just replant it, and we’ll be good.”

“Thank you for doing this.”

“No problem.”

The ride back, Hinata can’t help a curious glance. “So...how long have you worked for your aunt?”

“Through high school. She took my brother and I in after our parents died - she's my mom’s older sister. Her son’s a few years older than Itachi, and his best friend. She’s retired military, and took up the shop when she got back from active service.”

“Is that how she lost…?”

“Yup. Doesn’t slow her down, though.” His lips twitch. “She’s a very laid-back person. Super sweet. Takes a lot to get on her bad side, but when you do…”

Hinata giggles into a hand. “...I’m glad you got to stay with family.”

“Yeah...she’s been good to us. Itachi used to work for her too, but he’s finishing up business school and will be getting his own place next year.”

“Will you come back next Summer…?”

“...probably. I think she’s gonna be feeling the empty nest after having three boys running around.”

“That’s sweet of you.”

Sasuke gives her a glance. “...you know, I bet she’d give you a job if you asked. She’s always looking for more help, but no one ever sticks around. Seems like you like plants well enough.”

“...you think so?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll put in a good word for you, but I bet she’ll say yes anyway. That is, if you want it.”

“I…” A pause. Her mother had always wanted to start up a flower shop. “...I’d like that.”

Back at the building, Sasuke hauls the planter in, and Manami helps re-pot. “Theeere we are! Plenty of room for you, now.” Bracing fists on her hips, she admires their handiwork. “It’s clear you take good care of that plant.”

Behind them, Sasuke offers, “Just hire her already, Aunty.”

“Well, I didn’t want to spring on the poor girl.”

“I’d love to work here,” Hinata interjects with a smile. “At least...until classes start up. Maybe it can help pay for my board’s rent.”

Manami gives another laugh. “Well then...we’ve got ourselves a deal!”

     Word count: 2104      Cumulative: 41,540      Had to do some thinking for this one! This AU was a prompt in the last SasuHina event I did, so I wanted to be sure it wasn’t too similar. Hence it being Sasuke that works at one this time around!      Manami is an OC of mine from my RP blog, for anyone wondering: a fill-in character for Shisui’s mother! In canon she loses her leg during the Kyūbi attack, hence the parallel here. I don’t get to write her much, so I thought I’d take the opportunity n_n      Welp...just one more prompt to go. Feeling a little burned out (since this one turned out a bit longer than most), so I’m gonna take a break before finishing up the challenge. I’ll ramble more there. See y’all in the next one!

Two days of London activity!

Well, I do have a lot to catch up on -- and amazingly, we head back to the U.S. tomorrow!  So, I am going to post a few entries over the next 24 hours, just to catch up on everything and then hopefully offer some concluding thoughts -- because I really do think I have had some impactful, really lasting experiences these last three weeks, and that we have had many strong memories created as a family, and I want to get those all recorded.  But, for now, let’s begin with D. H. Lawrence ;)

So, yesterday morning I gave my paper at 9 a.m.  I was in a room called “the conservatory” in the New College of the Humanities, which was kind of a sunroom, and given that there were two consecutive panels, and one was in the big, really prettier room upstairs, and had a colleague of mine in the study of the “American Lawrence,” whose name is Lee Jenkins (from Cork), on that panel, and she’s great, it sort of came as no surprise that my colleague Nancy and I that we didn’t have the hugest audience.  But, so many “big” names were in the room, and that was really great -- and our chair, Paul Eggert, is a big deal in Lawrence studies, and everyone is so generous and supportive with their insights, that whether the audience was large or small, we still got a ton out of the experience.  I can say I did, at least.  I spoke on Lawrence’s few weeks in London between December 1923 and January 1924, before his two stints in New Mexico, as importantly transformative to his outlook regarding national identity and what he calls “a non-human race of men,” which he desires the emergence of, somewhere outside of western Europe. Paul Eggert is the editor of the Cambridge edition of The Boy in the Bush and Twilight in Italy and so his feedback was particularly rich and spot-on and if I ever have the time to turn this paper into an article, what he offered me in his comments will enrich that essay for sure. 

After my panel, I walked a bit -- after chatting with Lee Jenkins outside for a sec in the really surprisingly warm London sun (did I mention how hot is has gotten these last few days -- and humid with no rain?)-- and I went around Russell Square, just beyond the British Museum.  I was heading to a Caffe Nero (like a Starbucks) because I needed a coffee and some catch-up time on my computer because I am so, so, so behind on email and have just been going nonstop and really needed to send off a few important messages.  On my way to the coffee shop, though, I saw a small library called the Weiner Library for the Study of the Holocaust and Genocide and it had like a sandwich board outside advertising an exhibition they had on right now, and I was like, well, I am curious, and it’s free, I think I’ll go in.  I never take impulsive turns like that, but I did, because I had a little “spare” time.  It was incredibly interesting.  I wish I knew more about the library itself, but I overheard that it was founded by a man who had been a refugee to Britain in WWII and that they have collected many histories (not sure if oral histories too?) of other Jewish (and presumably non-Jewish but also persecuted) refugees from that period. Anyway, the small exhibition on now is about the Nazis’ human experimentation. I of course knew this had happened, but I didn’t know many details, and I learned a lot just spending thirty minutes reading and looking in that library yesterday.  A very heavy but edifying drop-in that was.  I could offer more details about the experimentation, but it is all just pretty unfathomable, but horrifyingly true, and if you wanted, you could peruse their online formation about the exhibition, and learn a lot about about it, if you were compelled to learn more. 

So, I did get to Caffe Nero before too long and spent an hour catching up on email.  From there, I went back to the apartment to check in on kid-duty and the group of Eric, Alia, Rowan, and Cece were just coming back from the Regent’s Park zoo.  It was a hot day, as I mentioned, and they walked the 1.2 miles each way, and had played at a playground before, and then paid through the nose to go to the zoo, by which point the kids were already tuckered out, though they had fun at the zoo, so afterward they were at ragged edges, just being goofy and loco. I wish I’d been able to go to the zoo too!  From the pictures I saw, it looks like the zebras, giraffe, and penguins were all pretty cool -- but Eric did say it seemed like an “old” zoo.  And Alia, being spoiled by having the Detroit Zoo nearby with which few zoos compete (I think this and she does too), it wasn’t quite of that caliber, so to speak. But, they had some animals that were new to everyone, namely the Okapi.  I think this is what they were describing.  I’ve heard of this because Cece has an African Animals A-Z book and “O” is for Okapi in that book. They also had lemurs, which other zoos have for sure, but I don’t think the Albuquerque Zoo does, though maybe they do.  But Rowan loves the old(er) kids’ show Zabomafoo (I did too, but when I was in my 20s, haha!) and that show features a lemur. 

The kids had dinner and once they were ready for bed and were purportedly winding down, Alia took the reins because Eric and I had to go to the “wine evening” at the conference director’s house.  It was in a part of London I’d never been to, though it was just a little ways north of where I used to live in Marylebone.  

Ooops, I realized I forgot to mention one other adventure of yesterday-- the Engberg Family Adventure on the Double-Decker Bus.  I should call this also a Very Hot and Sweaty adventure.  Man, I had kind of forgotten how hot the top of a double-decker bus is on a really steamy London day.  Ugh.  But I wanted to ensure that Rowan had the double-decker bus experience he’d been wishing for -- and since days were few still remaining, we needed to do it.  We took the bus down Euston Road towards my old neighborhood and then we got off at Marylebone Station and walked over to Balcombe Street.  We saw the flat that my friend Lauren and I used to live in, for one great year, in 1994-1995!  Like everywhere in London, as I’ve noted, that area was incredibly busy, and somewhat spruced up.  It was always a nice area, but there were some renovated bigger buildings and they’d updated some of the row-houses on the street.  It was really nice to see and was kind of forceful for me, like having memories from twenty years come raining down on my head and heart, just standing there. 

Anyway, back to the wine reception: getting there was interesting! Eric and I used an Uber Pool to get there, and the guy who comprised our “pool” was a man who works for the Wellcome Collection and lives actually in Brighton, a two-hour train ride away, but during the week he stays with a friend in London.  He and his wife and kids used to all live in London, but it got too expensive for them to find a house with room and a garden that they were searching father and farther out and ended up just thinking, well, if we’re looking this far out, we might as well move to Brighton!  Anyway, he was super interesting.  He found out I was an English professor and he asked me a question which he framed in linguistics terms, about the capacity for words to contain basically ineffable concepts.  I connected to this through existential philosophy, and he then started employing ideas from Wittgenstein and asking me about Samuel Beckett.  It was like the most intellectually intense fifteen-minute ride-share I bet I’ll ever have ;)  And I joked about that, and then he reminded me that he’s just a Cockney from London, which made me laugh, because as he stressed and as I knew, Cockneys have attracted the most fame from their propensity for swearing and their use of a special “rhyming slang.”

Because Eric and I needed to get the kids to bed first, we ended up getting to the conference “wine evening” a bit late, but there was still plenty to drink, eat, and conversation to be had.  We ultimately found ourselves on blankets in the back garden with some of the graduate fellows, the conference director, the administrative assistant for the conference who’d made the food, a professor from Estonia, and a few others.  The most memorable moment was when one of their golden retrievers literally ate my hors d’oeuvre right out of my mouth.  Like, actually.  We stayed until about 9:30 and then went back to where we’re staying and went to the grocery store to get a bit of milk for our final day (with our kiddos, that is a necessity). 

Now, it is very late and we’ve leaving at 10 a.m. tomorrow, so I’d better sign off.  We’re staying overnight in New York tomorrow, so I will post a bit more about our final day, and I will post an entry I’ve already started that is an interview with Rowan about this vacation! I am sure you’ll want to tune in for that. 

Rocket To Field “Am I a…?” No, no, no. If you don’t try and add the color to become the helping hands that push you forward, to skip over being asked those new, offensive questions that will never understand the strength of your simplicity floating above that sour confidence or anything of that nature of importance, then you will be lost faster than you could recall a closest direction: that is the undeniably, always-happening truth. Memories never die; put them down, groove with them, up and through to get some motivation for what is Incoming, incoming! They are here (to shoot you off). Oh, broken arrows happen, but what if not? What if you pierce it perfectly? Please know—because I have seen my share of contacts, snap-offs, and scrape-aways—that all the attempts in-between will leave you damp and bickering about your cut-up knees from a fall that included delicate effort and aspiring reach. This means boosts aren’t coming and you need wings, listening one, so please do so well. I am setting up a plan now; it goes something like a chaotic pink. “Everyone’s a victim” (harsh ways) versus… “Let me invent myself.” There is a lot of talk about these hoorays before there is a lot of getting down and sweating or ducking and checking for eavesdrops or insecurities and hidings or a blatant lock-up. Crawling and remembering, here we go, down and down, here we go into those old (victorious) cheers and dances. This is how we dwindle back toward the depths we first created our way out of without fear to see the original plan. Your pitiful endeavors— they are not your fault, not your creation. The lights that you will hang will look extraordinary, then the dust, then the reinvading, then the comfort to come and go in the dark (positively and always on the mind). This was before there were types of flowers on hills that I knew were a new addition from outsiders sending frenzys hope, but when you start to think about the view from the top, you want to hurry up and be alone with the entireness of it all, soaking, gaining the insight you always needed! The wait adds more minutes to the aches. “When can I scatter?” Oh, you soon go, you are elevating up; you are being cheered on, you are coming soon as a wanted birth. Delicately, fresh-water clean. A bracing out of exhaustion from the final moments of the weight you held up to block this craved world (coming in like a flash), which then slides down your back to squirm away, taking back its original tiny form. Is that shade in the distance—up at the hill, right above the flowers—another friendly grim to seek out? To it, you gaze and make your way toward it with your body, but your head tracing the way, going toward a polka-dot light in some opposite distance, you make out the shape of a tree (thoughts about safety rush a new record). Lovingly or grimly, you walk for the closest view of the black cloud, marking the important corners of the structure from melancholically far—the black is so wonderfully fascinating. Shoulder sore from turning, that pink light is getting bigger, so dangerous it has you shaking with it being so peripheral and knowing your dreams fall a long fall when the exiting force closes on you. A risky invitation, the black cloud—through all of your insides—that is scarcely looked at as indescribably profound. The black cloud was more friendly and of its own, yet shielded with dystopia. The polka-dot tree spawns you back at base when you want it, up in some morning daylight ready for the night again for another peek. Luck can be a masterpiece—but not most days. Most days, the black cloud would be far too much. These forms full of energy keep you paving paths, keeping wide eyes. Eventually, your reel of realities keeps your tendencies active and growing. Maybe a local, humble gardener will say, “Look at that, there it is,” talking to you, leaving the black cloud in his peripheral, as he trained himself to do. The Weight of a Whale, Being Young (Heavy), & Seeing the Travelers But truly, how are you supposed to know what to do after a slide you spend all day on? No one is (usually) around to talk about their review, really just taking it in for themselves over and over, not even a question. It is some epic resolution to your reality. We have our trees to climb here at home, our food to tend, religious services to muster around, and rules to honor to keep everyone in. The little humans played at a park all made of wood (normal: swings, slides, and some open field), the adolescents went to bed on time after labor (normal: chopping wood, building more, cheering for the village, and choosing it all again), and the elders kept their secrets very closely. Quite literally, there were swine all offered wine at dinner gatherings, around the fire, my family and their people, who all had their destinies and would describe them like the food. A few—I mean few—purple, static crazies who I knew would hop around their questions as I did for fun. We zapped in some other habitat quite seriously, and there was no reason for explaining these things. The ones I am with, the ones who went beyond the circle of our village and our trees, are all so majorly going on in a way that has me edging toward the (vastly) unknown realms, that I see them hinting to me with their eyes because they know I am about to, and the way they still do their job here but know there were and are so many spectacles to fall into. Cannot think up a good reason to ever be back here if I walked my legs out; I feel like my legs would just say, “No,” and run me until I were too lost. - As natural as thinking the opposite, there are productions of your efforts to scurry off from just all devastations. All runs seem terrifying when you are working your way away, but they give me so many fantastic thoughts about danger in general. I stabbed “the gardener” on some tree out in the surrounding forests of the land in-between, which was where I slept, ate, and walked around doing what was asked of me. Other members my age thought I was right about wanting to redecorate a young reality, but what I wanted was not an agreement but someone who would come for their own reasons. My night job at the village was sorting the apples—I knew they were either bad or good —so I just threw the bad ones away and kept what was healthy in the basket. Simple and the task was not minded. We cycled through the laboring, and I loved how nothing indescribable was being destroyed. The land was taken care of, the people were not hungry, we were all doing our part to be the hands that tended the responsibilities our ancestors had chosen. This is not about ancestries, this is not about the village where I lived. Yet you must know my beginnings, when there was only one place to run from. I have wounds from my own endeavors, from coordinates outside our little collection of homes, inside our boundaries of trees and lands that are impossible to stay absurdly profound—to me, and I know to anyone else. Annoyingly, younglings would run and tell when I was off studying other beats—they start so young, and that is grim. I was forced to cast these desires aside, so I would not ramble when it was my new responsibility to listen and repeat on command without explanations or depictions from your moon thoughts. This option was tried, yet I preferred the cuts and gashes earned out in the thick of what I wanted to submerge in completely. Seemed like all moral qualities, which are undeniably of importance, were everywhere but where you most sought after, all Sisypheans without checkpoints or accolades to show signs of direction or progress. Not that you would want to be anywhere but the life you know, which has been distinctly deep down and made with your own strand of vibrance and contentment and golden worth. (All locals want you to be a local, to hate or to love—it does not matter.) The ones who raised me, taught me how to function in their language, and whispered to me but never asked my opinion wanted to know how I had found out about foreign anythings. The trees were confided by me, “You are never not out in the open.” The fire pits out between homes, too (deadly forces that were useful, this was a motivation). The animals that would run through, being that point B was interesting and had their purpose. In respect, I will tell you that the village and the people were in solace and bitterly alone, and it was stable because we had no foreign additions and did not look for them. Spirituality came from the woodwork around us and the casual new kindness. How did new kindness, new functions come about? It was the travelers…travelers who came randomly over a few years at a time. This was what I lived for, although our hospitality never included a rested night on a bed. Village elders said, “North, or where you came from.” They said, “Your trees are the joy.” So naturally, there were new stories briefly coming in, and I desperately made them my priority. A Little of How It Went, the Leaving, & the Puddle That Shot Me Into the 5th Year of Freedom Regular night-walks, thoughts about freedoms. The sun would be down under, the stars and all would be my preference and at my disposal. What does the green above and next to the brown say now? The grass was getting thick, suddenly but not  in a way that was startling. Well, you see the rain that was being had led me to believe there was a new purpose out in the unfamiliar to be found. I was right, but I do not think it was found nearby this time—although, this could not be my routine and that was enough to keep my eyes wide. There were puddles in the woods, and the way my feet walked was in the context of echoes rushing quick—soon—and there will be no flinching, just latching onto. The trees were getting louder (as my beat), the woodwork bending over, the darkness closing above me inside. The earth was at its loudest. Oh, a single purple puddle in the middle of the woods. Speeding up (twisting around), there were pale blue streaks of light in the water, resting on earth from the sky. They kept twirling—just like the trees. Do I go now? The trees say, “Yes.” The puddle says, “You must go.” I say, “The sun is coming.” My hands cupped the blue inside the purple, throwing it onto my face. I could feel my body cooling; my imagination was left behind. Floating forward, I could feel everything. - There were boys and girls who would stay up and talk with their feet dangling off mountains, which we spent the sunrise climbing and touching. I rode trains that were one-way to ice-lands. Once, me and some others were put in charge of decorating a wing of castle. You know, I let very loose. Wherever I was, there was always some local group that would wave me over because my eyes always asked  for it. The comfortability definitely depended. Maybe the men painting me bathing with the women while we just talked about waterfalls, maybe there were no painters and everyone wanted to fall deep into volcanos. Together. Current Current, Pulling Me Around & Around Everything is at risk until you get to locked passages that open up, that depend whether they use a scale or whether they take your words for what they are worth. I cannot help but fill with pity when I watch people ignore warning signs or say there was no prize at the end to begin with. Oh, you say that danger is not real? If whatever moves, that means the depths are deep with intimidation—reaching out, wanting to show you power. Some argue to the point and the safeness of being loose or tied up; I think they are both of mania. I planned for them both because I had started diving, breaking, squirming, running, dancing, humming later than most, but dreamt about it far more often and before time paid it forward for anyone I had yet to know. Never knew how to look out for rocks, yet one rolls and stops regardless. For example—in my case—any tree reminded me of home and they always found me. Trust me, they found me. There was a time and place where they were at ease with their lifelines sitting on the edge next to them without being hooked to anything sturdy. That one would know certain citations that were cremated, create a tendency of scooping up a specific, (dead) interpretation back—way back—into existence, that would be up for examination and absorbent. Feed and be eaten. There are peripheral sightings and whispers of shapeless, hinted splendors that you probably helped create in the womb. Getting ideas from the infants who passed your genuine bearer while you were equally blocked off, I am sorry to inform you, and I must also include how crucial it is that I be honest with you regardless. For oftentimes carrying out incomparable moments that are meant mean a lot to my health, but I mean to tell you that you create what you lose, and always the follow; you lose what would help all creation. You are going downhill if you are not going up, you know. The view is so grand, so high at either side of a lifeline. It is very much natural, a downfall, but if you were to hear a repetition of your own words enter your eardrums, then that must mean you sparked and caught onto yourself without causing an unstoppable field-fire in rural wastelands unnoticed—an unappreciated, mock spectacle. You have a dangerous secret that some get awards for, some get murdered for. But you should know, if you haven’t been found out yet (in the context of a flaming secret), that it cannot be brought with you anywhere, or in anyway. I caught all I reached for, but then a tumbling into damp catch unwillingly showed me counter-power. This is about the time where a long, sad story had come to a close, yet started a second. There is nothing worse than having to start over with a new eternity. I got out of my hometown barriers. I made those volcano friends, and I have met many picture-lovers, love-despisers, sense-submergers, and plenty of people who told me to just go back to where I had come from. Never drew a map; sorry, don’t even feel like sharing it with you. But here’s a time, quite recently, where tongue-in-cheek genius arch first let me jump into its genre… I was a small little character in the midst of a whole, overwhelming amount of moments, always going on, everywhere and always at hiding spots during a time where hiding spots were safe, but not for you if you couldn’t handle your mind feeling jittery and misplaced. There were so many incredible people whom I will never forget. City Apartment, Nobody About the Benches: A Brief Discussion of Knock-off Cliffs I have my blue glasses, a key to unlock more in my pocket (my apartment on the third floor that has a bed and tools for love songs), and I am wearing a brown suit with navy blue pants. Being moving—being other places, mind or in the presence—you see other people end up where you were. Luck is for a while (which is an invitation that gets sent out from your comet lifetimes before), and if that is you, that didn’t find a shooter to shoot back out to you and onward, you already know seeing others at other places is not impressive when you battle to be just as far away from being unable to remove yourself to visit or relocate to the true preference. But the locals, the people you move in one place with, they discover you and you discover how it must be temporary. That is a light, wonderful topic that gets brought up on some rooftops when a giddy person breaks the news and says, “Go fast, but you must take care of us.” Those ones saying that to you on roofs, they were teachers even when they were students, brave and content, guiding panicking minds that want to forget the rules and charge their futures with vengeance. I don’t know. If I scurried into Gerald’s Cafe House for a break, and closed the curtains and placed the pen (that was behind my ear) onto the table and sat in the red chair I always sat at, then the owners would make all the customers leave and then, themselves, lock each other in the back until I was finished. This was a gift for protecting dying paths they still believed to exist and kept functional that they admired of me still not denying and keeping alive—protecting too. But I warn you, they tell me they never even get to explore. I thought, “How could they know then?” or rather “Their companionship is surely in the dearest tone.” It was like blood actually showing up in the waterfall and bathing inside the mixture. What type of creature would decline an honorable belief (dressed up with defense) if all that creature desires is for guessing to be filtered out and replaced with honesty? Their business closes down annually until they gamble with what they have already purchased because some customers get light-headed in their presence. (But these specific owners actually fell in love with people coming back, especially ones who were racing the wavelength of romance (free drinks to couples). And there were moments I confirmed and congratulated them on acknowledging that endearing corner of loudness—yet I was no expert, and I kept reminding them. They would give nervy laughter out of empathy because I would toy with denying what I knew could not be lost and withered. Though, there was an extent of revealing that I partook in early on after we met. The owners of the shop were standing outside their building. They had gotten married the sundown before, so they had written it on the wall with handprints imprinted with the help of blood under their note (none of your business). I smiled, accepting the beguiling taboo approach of invitations, and I took the same ink and did so with them from time to time with dearness and merriment. Anyone could come to write whatever softness on the wall. Local impatient and provoked children were able to hooray on this, but there was an etiquette for only pushing forward secrets that would save the town; disruption was and is not worth the brief attention before exile. To some, they were just proclamations of artificial resurrections written on the wall of the shop outside, or even sometimes thought up to be some sort of advertisement that would make the allure some sort of diversity. (An inside job, could you believe it? Even the loose things get tangled opinions.) - There was an article I read, in the town’s news, that the mass of them would always think there would come a day where you had to start taking what you talk about a lot more seriously, and you would have thought it was like mowing the grass on a clear-minded morning. Or even as easy as the days you tried to glance in the mirror and catch what keeps you up, but instead tell people to get more sleep and stay healthy, and forget about the twitch inside your body when you sit too long. Danger is taken very seriously when you step back into the makers of it, and I don’t think the locals of this city-place that I am here visiting have ever seen a flower besides the thousands they pass unknowingly every day, and even the ones that feel the little growing plants acted like it was a gene they were trying to lose and stay away from. My dominant hand has blocked hands as well (terrible idea I accidentally picked up), but never did I not go see obvious alternatives, other places guarding nothing but survival. For I was once shown the once-striking but now-increasingly soothing conversations that must be held so truth ceases to dwindle into something as immature as folding the first and last instruction more delicately than the ones in-between. In more simple terms, it was for oneself the hunt that is getting away. How it was for me at least, during my times at rest after my adventures far from here and now settled in—-my in-betweens, my waits—I wondered what milestone all my old tribes were huddled around (the ones I base everything off of). I would attempt to mimic the emotions and denouements of those ages with sound, reimagining them and repeating them. If those were not taking me, I would put on “Paraphrasing by a Collaboration of Interpreters,” a recording often used to work out my footing before semesters or a tactic to find friends on a scale. It was always playing. I had made this a routine during afternoons while I would attempt to prescribe off-putting patterns to each of the interpreters when it was their turn to step up to the mic to tell me they could not afford to take any dangers at risk without stopping to survive them. But a thought strung along with me, from a gypsy young woman. It was tied when we were brushing each other’s hair, while our feet hung over the cove out in deep tropics discovered by astrology fanatics, then by us years after them, but only a few years ago from this time now. “You simply cannot anymore. I will fall into deep, blue holes and I will reach up to you for clarity before daunting layers. But you would be at careful ease, pointing your eyeglasses, tracking a covet while nearing toward what is the worst plan and away from my crippling plummet.” She was right; I did not know how to save anyone. It was incredibly simple the way my priorities did not matter as long as I capitalized my casualness, and it made me a bit guilty at times, but at least I had a few people thinking that I wasn’t ever in a beautiful place, so I could understand and study this manic party of judgmental lethals that kill the users. I never caught their names, yet they made their points of the shoes fitting and I’d look down and stall (just like they wanted). - The pieces are almost set out for view, I just need a little more time until you see how I am where I am. My name is Riled, now and for a while. I forgot to mention, although all my scatterers are pointed in the direction, I’ll first say— and I have hinted it so—there are places that were home and there are places you must be for some time. Oh dear, I am not home. And you can tell because of the irritated hope in my voice and the mentions of the foreign aura. I am underneath cover, and they kill each other, or want to. You want to pick out the faintness in another, join or wet pinch. Of course, there is always the continuation of accusations until someone eventually winks. That is how it is done here and in most places, when you’re not somewhere safe. But I have walked these streets before through a tint, while they were darkening. This was after I let the outskirts rush me from the place of old horizons that were not wanting to be left. The first thing I wanted to briefly explore, before I found out about the moon a few nights ago, changed my settings forever, and it was how I couldn’t notice if anyone was trying to clean up and clear through to see the best parts of this town. My new favorite spot, the cliff at the edge of the city, completely closed off by tall walls of green ferns and only a staircase for those who know about it. The swing sets and benches were always empty in the city and a lot of places I have been. The people just weren’t about it. There were only paces that were moving slowly and huffing, quickly away into closed safe-houses of their own wrong-intentioned (grumbling anarchists). I got very much used to seeing, when resting was at any time, certain things: 1) this version of weeping that cleansed and reset and 2) this presence that circles around your corpse and breathes life through. It was LAUGHTER directed toward the simplest pleasures and shooting out refreshing reliefs and hints. And that was easily understood; you could have made a wonderful life of it. I have taken notice, in this town and the radio waves sharing in distances, that there is a mist of some sad progression overflowing with all the cures dying off. When you wander around, it is obvious and brightly apparent that the hilarious and the depressing are manageable, and yet exquisitely profound, states of presence. But as one could tell when that one would latch onto any emotion that day out of desperation, the number of people dragging around feeling insulted is the reason geniuses have their moments indoors and alone. Manic freak-outs, but frightened of comforting things—there is no keeping count and no keeping mount. I understood, before I came here, that I would know that these people must fall deeply and recognize open spaces. Gathering that I could not just ask around to learn where the magic was (whether it was in beautifully lit tents, or in a treehouse), and then it being firmly unavailable. That would have crushed me. It would create only multitudes of plans to task through that were all once thought of as a younger, underdeveloped inconvenience one must take out to save skin from coldness and sempiternal spirals of darkness swallowing all wholes with only particles of science and beyond shrinking as the distant gaining speed victoriously off and away to a place with no pleasures or breaks. It is essential that you determine all answers for yourself. There were secondary places suggested to me by influences that I was able to whined out when I spent sunsets with them (the ones they were never fully sure about inviting me to) and I had written down coordinates for times of overwhelming inputs that hung outside on buildings outside my window, which I wasn’t able to shun when they become toxic to my discovered and genuine stillness. They keep dwindling the (knock-off) vibrancy at these secondary settings, and I was forced to get used to it. For example, house get-togethers, public parks, needed money, needed validation of whatever “correct behavior.” It was awful, and reminded me of home far too much. The Cliff My mind would intact briefly and breathe blue, clean breaths when I popped in on somewhere unforgettable on my own—the final drafted, already established. The fountain at a corner of the park at the left edge of society, literally overlooking a cliff that the best (yes there are) people of this world (the ones who happen to spawn in this city, too) come and relish unapologetically and embarrassingly (if they were to be seen by people who partook of that practice). Lying down, you would see how the grass walls don’t block that much of the view when on the inside. You can see the buildings behind the walls, still standing tall. You can see yourself, along with those gathered around the fountain, in the green walls all together, looking out and seeing a huge ocean with no one in it, beside younger ones jumping from the cliff down on the left side a few hundred yards away (still secret, they are still the great ones). The exuberant or the once was come to relapse and recharge, but it was indeed, gigantically covered with vines and roses. It was a small collection of natural, hidden explosions muffled for only the ones inside to hear the tones lathered blissfully and full of beautiful thoughts (every little thing, from the foundation of the Earth to the foundation man gracefully put between for appreciation and for the usage of others). It was as big as a room, but the ceiling was blue, top of the inside of a sphere, with the walls breathing in and out green life with their highlights of whichever color growth was in season, and behind the fountain awaited the water far down and away, with large cliffs resting on the left. Once, there were adolescents in red swimming suits making their way down the cliffs. They did not die, so they had an unspeakable way of a time when they hit the water from heights. Two of the seven in the group looked strangely at each other constantly. They were addicted, as I, to being shown what intensity there is to work with while in plain sight, vulnerable and open to whatever charges. At dusk, the lanterns that hang from the edges of the sturdy rock placed by enthusiasts start to glow. This was primary, and from time to time you even see the real hands that scribbled little, desperate sentences that could all save the world in their own forward direction from the grounds they were imprinted on. They varied from “It’s time for tea, swim across and see what we are supposed to prepare,” to “Cheers to the few phews that prompt all royalty.” It looked like an old back porch that was the property of an old journalist who only the Paris painters (who he hung out with without ever working on their stories) knew about during the Renaissance. It was hauntingly filtered with revolutionary thoughts you could soak in and dissect from an ancestor’s admirations to an altered anthropology lesson. They, the sentences by the people, became most eerie when you sat down on the concrete blocks and discovered that they were all thought up here, then choosing what would daunt you, until you write your own, but rather with your noble intention to avoid disheartening beguiles—perhaps intention will truly never embody a weathered consumption. So I have never imprinted at the fountain, but embrace the taste of all incoming structure conducted, denying the opportunity to coexist, sadly and obviously; I was intimidated. Being figured out was scary enough the first time, because it was by someone who knew the good things about me, too. I may just keep that one to myself, and let the traces be at peace wherever they may rest. I admired these cliff people as much I could, and wanted to know the secrets of what it took to be admirable without it being about a joke. There wasn’t any furniture, but multiple ways of comfort were identified and examined in the practice of unfamiliar circumstances. The fountain in the middle never stopped its rhythm, and the coins that were thrown in were worth as much as a messiah beginning a speech of complexity—or so it was just as intimidating. Most of these folks creeping up as we had all ducked into a secret, as a secret. All just collectors looking at what they had earned without their money. They weren’t all behind on commitments; they were just out and needed something to remember why they allowed themselves the most frequent schedule they would ever embrace. I have kind of been doing this unnaturally a lot, a little longer than lately (so I knew a lot about the scary parts). How being a complete outsider cannot be a full-time deal if you want to grow old to meet more like-minds. Even though this secret fountain on top of this secret cliff was more of a quiet place, there were joyous communal glares exchanged that were full of vibrant yellow. But it was wholly about the orange sundown with blue coats of splatter to keep it cool, with pink stripes always there. Or even, sometimes, the sky going upward as if selected, recommended harmonies chose you to sync with them, keeping you matched up on starry nights that fulfill until the next largest, open space reveals itself as effortlessly ticking and hinting that you need more than what it has to offer. Yet it will wrap you as warmly while you reset to new, while it resets its view, for whoever is approaching your buried troubles, which are spares that will most likely just be picked up and put on. Spending the night was heroic. I would sometimes wait outside after I was done to see what we were all leaving with and because the pace lets you be whenever you want to be. There was especially no trouble wanted by us fountain visitors, along with the tree visitors, storm chasers, cure discoverers, sound pointers, scene documenters, scene cleaners, and animal keepers. We all knew of each other, that there were others too to learn about, yet spotting parches were identified just by looking to see if they had red eyes, or jittery bribes to get in or be around—so much unnoticed evil, everywhere. The fountain was famous for hosting potent figures. I had a static seizure when I was not trampled; the welcome demonstrated the power, and showed me the rules of freedom. You could go somewhere else when you died, nature would draw you, agendas were filled spaciously with notes as a reminder of the stillness that was always achievable. But you could not go visit other stills, you could not love simple things, you could not visit old friends with your secrets, you could not mark anything as your own. Instead of weeping about coves and tree lines, which I gave nicknames, I fell deeply in interest with these four-walled deranges and the bright lights carried around by creatures that looked like me on the inside. It was the greatest of things, you know, that whoever did actually find their way to this obscure fountain would find revealing simply a form of creation, and would take you as seriously as you they took expeditions they wanted to survive—and I was never let down. I will invite you to the moment I discovered it—it was a Thursday night and a full moon. This very young man, at this moment to himself, with a very worn blue shirt where the red, thin stripes were in style (not the large ones); they take up far too much of the blue. - The boy collided exactly where I did, with a haven’t-been-curious-lately look on his face, as I have seen before but never by him. He just happened to be here on random Thursdays throughout the year, resting his back against the prickly wall, and always the wall that was the one of the entrances, with the perspective when looking out of facing his back to the society behind him. He could have made plausible, daring eye contact with me if he had not been occupied with heavy shoulders pushing him to the floor, with an empty gaze—blurry forward, loose jaw, and jittery hands. I looked away from him, then away from another man on the floor, who I knew made money by mixing theft with his uneducated audiences to make his wealth and name. I did not like him here, and that may be selfish, but he is rotten. The place was elevated off the street outside the green walls. There were stairs behind the entrance, and there were stairs by the balcony behind the pot on the left, which leads to a thin trail through a row of trees, then a garden, then around and up to the top of the cliffs. Some went there to commit for good; there were ways to look at yourself, even from such heights. Perspective isn’t much unless serenity is leveled and pieced together to mutter on about—what it means to say, to those you cannot see, what saves you gives them hell. I was held over until my last toe convinced me. Some mention crucifixion not resembling the same humiliation in that moment of mine. That was months ago, and I needed that perspective at that time. Even when I step out of character, these creatures know that whatever is going on must be one of the last things I have to hold onto; this was a dying gift to give. I guess you could think I was curious in the things that were historically immature and were at the edges of mass mutual agreement then as well. I just assumed dying without believing in something that might not have worked is what gets you into hell. So I listen and practice a lot, trying out all opinions. Brought to a discussion, most often when topics are dry and ready to offend, that invading a timid privacy was in fact pushing some limit that was to be defined without input or warning. But I learned about personal explorations in someone else’s limits and caves. And there were some with open ends and beginnings with fiery lights placed inside, and there are some closed and slippery unlabeled, boring walls that have no tones, and there are cells that must be open regardless of the rupturing importance the inmate has been working up. I know well that in this case there is no place like wandering one hole away from deep holes that were newly flourished or often even filled layers of tiny pieces of coal to leave no light for the deepest part of a tragic bypassing. My aimlessness and hoping mind made me eligible for humility again, into which I believed I could bolt around the corner untagged and unregarded tonight at a place and time of the old. Thought-out differences and turns that are unidentifiable and unusable unless used in unity and in exploration to put light over edges and gaze upon non-survivors, but show what they meant to be and set out for during their time of shaking interest in difficult times and dreary fortune. Could we see something similar in our setting tonight? There have been wildlife and astrology, there have been spirits of mine running around chronologically. I had inquired of these cultural crossovers when I was guided realistically through rights laid out after experienced vastly along the trail where my feet left kisses, and these happened beautifully and always where culture was still spiritual and molding forms. I have had luck and I have had deaths. And with my desperation at a binge that told me to move from where I sat, untried and lacking to revolution. So I made my way to him and would remember it all regardless due to marking distant points closing in for the sake of colliding, to repel with extraordinary speed from new sources till again, and hoping for discrepancy to clear eternally. Heart speeding on already, and I said while his head moved centimeters up to acknowledge my approaching than sitting self, “It is embarrassing to admit, which I amusingly and inopportunely do at times, but I find your presence here as profound as the bedtime story I was told but never lived in, that prompted some other marvelous, personal land after the lights crawled under the bed and after farewells till morning and wishes to slumber in ease, then the closing of two eyes. Maybe a grandfather’s carving under blowing willow trees, or red balloons representing companionship when there is nothing to do but let go and know they will land back as the dreamer would in hours, leaving behind that green balloon, closing in and retaking one’s love from the waning flames of one’s first. What if you forget those initials of the old man’s memoir wood? “That brings me to the beating fact that when you see what you saw in the air, and the insignificance you believed your dreams to be, it shows that something thought up to be gratitude was rather a lack of experience. Let me pass with care to you that your signification is of its own description and it is of the way you exist here now, letting what is under control rapture and overwhelm your composure and ease. “But this place is controlled by us, and do you see now how one can awake and have frightened away the bedtime stories and their tellers, even in the morning daylight that was meant for peace, and that when there is a call for retreat, there is no place for safety? But you do not see that, you see something else here and that runs and drags out there, too-something that gives you that feeling of retreat with your wounds, while others call it a surrender and a cut-down of time. Even the ones who collapse and look like yourself do not carry themselves likely when they leave. “But you do stay in heavy reality with other foreign factors intruding, but you apply them. Or maybe you do not? You are only seen here or talked about in tiny circles of people who misunderstand you in crueler ways than dreamless, green balloons. Mother and child, where do you come from, boy who sits around fountain and cliff view? You are not composite, and that never exists—even if you admit you act, don’t tell me it is not play.” All I knew of him was that he owned the most mystical mansion, because he once stood for a lot of things that were not up for thought, until he brought up a particular hill, with the topic resting at the top and consequences on both sides. He was still full of stories, ongoing and in process, because there was sadness touching me from his glance of sorrow that I was suspicious of matching up to the way my exuberance has been dissolving, without the consent I was too weak to have up-front or within. We were already close enough, and beyond the physical space for an interaction such as a handshake to show typical decency, so he kept forward, as his posture slouched and his eyes were worn, while I let myself fall down next to him. He had a clay ball that he took from his pocket and into his hand; it was red and it came back down correctly, without a god to do anything but catch and repeat by a creature mimicking power. It was expected, understood, and cherished if he put no significance into the words he would say or even find in himself a response—I feel over that. Know me just as one wanting to see. It was safe here. Maybe he was spending his spinning moment recollecting studied shortcuts, before he noticed I was sitting, to turn himself into someone that I needed to communicate with, someone like me who prescribes pestering, judge-free trust out of an experimentation of getting hints, or at least notes to subdue and apply to my currents. I spent mine acknowledging the pink, in-bloom hollyhocks complimenting dark blue, green, and white dots. As I kept close the night sky and swallowed then stammered through, “You are lying here, reliving a year—or two—with tears I know far too well in my own interpretation that is growing into my deepest insecurity. You see, you must excuse me coming up to you like this, but I must. And I must stop saying ‘I’ now, so please speak on what you are willing to tell a stranger, applying pressure on weaker spots surrounding your weakest.” He understood, and said, “Are you interested in, what? Let it exist.” His legs uncrossed and crossed again. The exhibit of value for free begins most value, so, naturally, my eyes filled with small tears. The boy would not have noticed even if he wasn’t too, neither would someone behind the bushes if they were listening in. No shaking, but varied, still downpours of exhausted relief made purposeful through the topic. “It’s important, I guess,” I said. My legs stretched out and made me taller, onto moving toward the view. My prologue followed the replica of length. “The moon being full, when I see you here sitting, tonight.” He looked up, and I noted the encouragement of attention. “I want to know—and I thought I did.” My fingers rowdy, I was depicting sounds that I heard, like the night, so I could move, going onto the next. I stood back up and walked past the fountain and toward the edge for the view. The direction facing out, there were calm boats, which might have held people aiding the neglected species that breathed differently after hours, out amongst the vast reflection of the water. The look-over had two large pots guiding you in; this was a tall place. I saw something I wanted to remember when I walked over to the edge; it was red, and the small black colors in my eyes exploded accordingly, but only tinting my face from the distant set-off. You would have seen something, too, how it was far and shooting past. I turned, trying not to miss importance ever again. He was leaning over himself. He was wincing through pain, but stood up for me. The stomach that he had was his derange; people argued that he had the wrong variety at times. He picked a flower from the garden. He obsessed over the way it had nowhere to go but his hands. He muttered quietly as he floated over to where it was expected of me to sink to the plans grown up in his process. “It usually happens Thursday morning, but I would like to have you experience some jaded, unrelated before, but an important I know you must see.” The colored flower sat on the edge, unidentifiable by its family, where I rested my right shoulder. I was listening, as I looked at death. He looked up with dry eyes. “Dry eyes, you see. Some people get some preparation; I get reminded.” He handed me a card with information on it, even though I never wanted that. MORNING OF Pure ecstasy—it is a moment where black flashes yellow, or some fancy investment not matching your wild, child-like world of colorful hallucinations any longer—you come around to it. Turning that, shaking that, you find an echo of terror making camp in the part of the brain you love most. A good performance—it’s all you’re asked for when you are healthy and young. “Live like it’s your last…Till death do us part... Don’t be afraid…” But dying once is a surprise that we have all been cracking up. Last night, I woke up and I felt fire on my back; I was falling in this loose darkness. Luck is bolder than honesty. You wake up, and you know it was like a cry you needed, yet you walk for blue moments on blue, knowing that what you were seeing was exactly like you. Last night’s moment and now, broadcasted as intimidating, more potently startling as it goes on. The creatures that were around to protect me all think I am boring—haven’t seen them in a while. If I were only able to produce a confession of less. Certain frenzies you find in your fantasies are as easy to work out as to withdraw twitches in your day-by-day body. So I started one you get more of, but offered no re-dos. There were once incomparable shortcuts still boxed up and scattered about my bedroom. I had stopped investing again, recently. No one would be able to make a fortune by proclaiming they didn’t have time for what they think about. It’s true that type of confusion happens, and it is only seasonal if you are worked up about that sort of low path that receptions know comes easily. My figure stumbling over and rapid, I check to see if I still look the same, in a mirror that came with the apartment downtown. I could hear delicate missiles being launched outside in a park by the street, from humans living fast. They exploded color until it was too small to see, and yet it was daylight that couldn’t stop them either. The left side of my face had two lines that were filled in with blood; I felt them with ease. Scratching happens I had dedicated a few binders I kept on a shelf near my bed, with what I could remember about the experiences that pushed deep into plans of homicidal actions planned against the other side of my imaginative tales forced indoors. Pedaling in the lane of danger isn’t a safe place to make plans, nor a direction that slows a beat down. I let water soothe my face, while the way outside felt was making me want to see it. The sun chose to again, and I could see a woman with naked pores worth a lack of sores and some man trying not to be seen broken while strutting with shiny apparel, out the window where I stretched. I kept inspiration on walls, in a closet, spread out on floors, and I changed them often to keep myself away from being a type of work that didn’t know when to shed into a renovated mind-set. Sometimes I draw up an obsession with paintings done of cabins, paintings of park-rule signs in front of owned, phenomenal places, or pictures taken of bears. The mirrors I have stood in front of, the paintings that captured stillness, the things I didn’t know had me falling—I found that I was spinning out. The last time, I forgot to update the space for challenging thoughts. If that were to happen again, I wouldn’t be able to hold a conscious face for the closed that look for an opening to compare fortune. There were creatures dying, creatures lying. A house can be made if there is a feasting of the locals. Prostrating throughout discussion leaves you wondering why you started anyway. So you move on. You let oak and natural smells make your choices, you learn their language. The way things move flick over the modern topic in hands. I live today undauntedly, as many other times, but an unwanted subliminal brews over my head. Making it to the point when work is staying alive, which keeps you in, being fed up with everyone outside skipping over the introductions of titles. At one point, that was my favorite part, but they have their points that I settle into. Once, I paid a foreign man to carry me out of the city in a navy coffin. When I looked up into the almost black, all I could hear was the rattling of someone being strong enough, but not capable of things being easy. But that is what I paid for, and it wasn’t much. Probably, if his boss had found out about his rare, lucky tips, he would have slammed his skull with a smith’s hammer and scooped him up like the rest till the stacked pile in the back shack. I tipped him anyway, and I was off to my own pile, which I found was in need of a sorting, not a viewing. My foot’s tracks after found tracks, there were colors I saw that matched only in those parts of what was unable to be captured. One is something different, one finds. After the morning thought, I took down a painting of a bird flying up, which was above my bed. It was made for me, in the same room as me, by The Painter from north-eastern borders. He talked about his “real” home, and how it depended on him stretching out to come here. There was always a canteen of poison hanging from one of his belt loops, and he said that the birds actually disturbed him back home when they shook a branch, or poked their heads into holes. The short period I spent with him here in these busy streets, we were both talking about leaving. The Painter was the first person to tell me to go back to Greenland; he was a disappointment. I set it down, jotted a note that would remind me to write another one on it when I delivered it discreetly to a gallery. They would see to send me a due. There was plain, red thread that I threw on my back. There was proof that everyone needed to get into places only busy people get into—a picture of my face. It was in my left pocket. Exposing people is a terrible flaw; a lot to do with how I come to know that is watching someone be alone in an empty place, and calling out to them. It is an embarrassing habit, but I do it often out of being consistently nowhere identifiable. Some people afford castles by exposing great secrets. There was a gathering, in some cave at some mountain, where we taught each other how to never expose again. There was this girl—she had a beautiful face like an angel, but she was taking notes moment after moment, until we finally burned her face off at dinner time, when we found out she had jotted down directions. Note to find alternative ways of letting needed things through in the midst of chaos, or you’ll lose what you needed to see what you gained. So I picked up the card the boy gave me, and I made the day to talk to him about why he was okay with willingly exposing himself to me when I broke. I scrambled over for a last look at the streets before I walked out of my room and into the hallway; I didn’t see anything this time. It was a Wednesday morning. - I was out amongst a lot of things. My building was a few blocks from the hill he was on. There were also a few tall things that made you go around between our stance. During a time where I thought about logging, I spent many hours at a small shop under a mob’s quarters; it was at the corner of this intersection. I decided to stop by because I knew they sold music sheets. Inside, they always had tunes, turned in a direction that kept the owners peppy regardless. I found that this music was on today, when I stepped in, as the bell rang for dedicated attention. Flipping through lifetimes of beautiful atmospheres and thoughts, I picked up a replica and bought a warm cup of tea at the counter, where I talked to the owners about fish and whether they ever throw them back. They said they did when there were grandchildren figuring things out by watching, but otherwise they shredded them with their teeth and went for their friends. I tipped them some coins, and walked outside into the air of the world with my bag in my hand. The first thing I heard was a scream followed by a bang followed by a siren announcing some start. What I saw to begin with, somewhat, was a summer photo shoot in the fall. I ducked my head left and went that way. There were all kinds of voices behind me, and the ones that held my interest in front. I heard a smile from a poor man who made his living doing so, testing its distance. There were lots of damaged lungs, and lots of people going places. - Up the street, there started to be a noticeable sight of wider rooms after rooms with longer spaces between the few houses there were, going up into where you could purchase quiet time. There wasn’t any property up for grabs sitting outside the most expensive, no one needed to get anywhere unless they did, into which they made that process a fortune to owe. They kick you out if you hop outside. There are sections thought up of, when I wasn’t thinking in any way about what I was doing. Admittedly, going hunting is the way of a mammal on the contrary of cleaning spoons after something prepared. The sidewalks were still carefully made onward and upward. Although this street was the home of my destination and would be the end of a repetitive that was started ambitiously and that was more helpful than usually thought up to be. His manor, from the outside: tall, mid-tone gates along the front, from which I was able to see the expensive surprises inside for free. There was a light on up in the fourth floor; you could feel that an atmospheric galaxy was in the whatever-sized room. He was the owner. Smooth audibles, matching keys that matched with others separately, yet all tangible to an overwhelmed, inspired chin rub. I was able to recognize it because I have been around those specifics, but I could not replicate any of this, and it was all so terribly unwrapped for me. The gates opened and two tall men with soft, lavender suits approached my left and right. When I moved, being the onlooker, I stretched my arms out so they could hold the ends of them, and finally do what they think of while they wait outside day after day. The two men turned in my direction, their inner hands caressing mine with their gloves off, and their other hands pointing out blue trees for resting, retired blue birds and a sonnet written across a tall, wooden wall that was the entrance to an orange garden, with women playing harps and resting on broad dirt that was soft (you could hear that, too). An interest in looking into gigantic forces that kept you secluded being put into words slipped in one of my storage rooms. Softly, I was then told that the person who had written such a thing happened to have been fired for blue words, where he earned an audience but was viewed wholly as from the industry. The writer was the part about it and was hoping to leave, getting executed by crowds that did not see or know what he talked about. As an extra, I now know that he lives tiny, because what he earned makes him with no need to grow to go anywhere else. He is the writer, and he is out somewhere with others I didn’t know of to begin with. I walk and looking black from the inside was monstrous, and the way the front yard was more broad once you were in it, and the gates taller from further away. A fountain of a young girl sitting on a bench was in the middle of a foreign roundabout in the front yard; the water came out of her mouth, down onto the book she was living in, then finally fell where her feet met the light action of submerging. She had shoulder-length hair, a skinny waist with a shorter skirt. I enjoyed what mattered about the frame I was showing myself, as the similarly occupied, left man was, because it was to our right when we walked about it. The two men carried out an innocent entrance with me, then bowed as they let go, their backs straightening after they turned and pressed against the wall of the mansion to resume patience. They were the finest at their job that I have seen over my years of receiving hands that were paid to. When I entered the open door, I was in a place where the welcome was casually dependent, as were the people I saw over my shoulder, who were gathering out in the street after another word from a visitor, at the most private estate for grand reasons unknown. They were talking with kept thoughts let out for the exclusively, similarly experienced un-wealthy, who adapted to the idea of most gates closing off their welcome, even though most of the time they were missing what one needed to find so one could know what was going on. Didn’t fit anyway, just my people that I am losing depth with. I shut the door and didn’t make eyes with anyone, but the image of them getting closer to the point of no capability of pointing my figure out. I was unweary with them, for I was closing myself off in dark, similar-minded atmospheres for the first time in a long time. The wasteland outside I am fond of leaving behind, yet I am showed in lavish, front-yard creations that were moved into and claimed. Mark me as the latest discoverer of vivid malice, birthed from various strands of realities, uneasy secrets striking me to my own, and I am unable of withholding realities except my own unmarked. The Boy’s Manor I was greeted with a long hallway, down the middle, as a lane for making my way through, shown with two rows of gold candles after another on the walls. The top of this tunnel was low, and when I stepped closer and closer, I found three steps down into warm water that continued to the end of the hall, where I made out a dark, burgundy room that was used as a study. Standing from the distance, I could only make out a table and some shelves with books. Before I would slip off my shoes to make my way in, I gave my attention to the two doors, which weren’t options for company, but up-front for enigmatic taste. I knew this because the doors were both closed off and had locks on them for keys. Blue and with vines, the one on the right had a sign that temporarily spelled out, “Be down after B-flat.” I expect that was the location of the sounds I had observed out front when I was looking up, accepting the idea that the house owner expected his guest to walk through the tunnel while he was off onto personal projects with natural appearances. So I looked at the left, red door, leaving it at that significance as I took the picture of me and the gift for the owner and placed them on the floor right in front of my toes. I didn’t want these items wet, but I also wanted the host to know who was at the other side of his interest, and the appreciation at hand. I stepped over them, and submerged myself as I tend to inevitably find myself at this place that offers discussable, yet forcibly individual experiences. I forced intrusive thoughts behind myself and invited all unfamiliar concepts to sprout inside of me, as they must at a time like now, in a place such as here. Paintings of creatures hung above the candles to my sides when I looked up and around. They were offensive styles that I looked over and anonymously exposed at committee discussions, but new meaning belongs in all new places. Paddle after paddle, calm ripples that pushed at a pace that ended where I would in seconds now. I am at three steps again, and I turned my back to see the front door and where I was. When I stretched my way out, I made the wooden floor wet. What a monstrous library it was, now that I was able to see the ceiling, which went up through all stories and prompted a waiting room for guests. This dark room was a partner you could weep around. It gave off familiarities of those therapeutic rows sold out for low interpreters on a night of viewing preparations, something you would see during times of that occupation, a setting dressed up for effect with such purpose thought up by onlookers. So it would not matter how I was seen. There was a door up a floor that was accessed by a spiraling flight of stairs to my right. I made out a lock from my placement, then directed my attention to the middle, which had shelves of books that went up after having been filled with extensive rows of width. The mobile ladder scooted over to a loft as well, which I noticed on my left. It all prompted new design, yet still acknowledged its foundation of simple astonishment in closed quarters. I expected it to be an altar or a place of orange thought, the loft that was up, when a tighter place was needed, when pacing is just reminding you of overdone; and so it was. I was usually the one to break the news of rudeness to myself. I have spent lifetimes studying legible manners, but I grasped the ladder with hands firmly, steadying my weight that didn’t want to let go into the dead-space before contact with the floor. When I reached the loft, it was not tall enough for a human to squat let alone stand, so I crouched on my knees. There was a wool mattress with red blankets on top and two books resting at the edge: Kelpie Horses and Defense and the other, Shooting Down Arianrhod. One studied these writings to find out if the writer was real; I found that they were both pen-name frauds, and had an obsession with examining the way they wrote to close off their pasts. They did, in irritating honesty, dress it all up quite well. That is what I remember from spreading their best works out to examine why dreadful and incredibly sincere words were used to describe the words themselves. But it is sad to watch an individual proclaim that they can be trusted, when all they did was stay the same and add thoughts they wouldn’t die for, or even swear on a life that they exist at all or are impure without coverage. I could not find interest back then, but I picked them both up and crossed my arms for gentle support. There was also a red curtain covering a small window across from the bed. All I needed was my fingertips to open up a view, so I let go concept after concept so I had a hand for rest and a hand for revealing. I pinched the curtain over starting from the left side, and when I scooted an inch back to see what was made up of the library, I focused back toward the right curtain, which I caressed like the grass you lie upon in spring on top of red blankets. The left side of my face reflected colors from what I could not see until my right side confirmed them, shooting out from trees in the backyard, beyond the acre of a second garden named after a native tribe leader who had left a legacy of tally marks representing all the times he had refrained from announcing his heroism. I knew this because I had met one of his great-great-grandsons at a lynching of the wealthy. But I won’t bring that up, because not all crossovers are threatening and I, as well as being the descendent of a popular man, found such actions to be of a coward’s backup statement of cowardly firsts. The garden was beautiful, equally as the one from the front yard, but this one had a thin pebble path that took you through it to gaze at foreign designers’ work, or down to the forest where war was happening in those trees. Or some sort of grand finale celebrated with science so that you could hear them howling through the night, chanting in understood differences that were translated (by me) as “gnawing what lovers don’t eat, screeching what stammerers repeat.” Being behind walls or behind in lessons had me beating, soothingly nerved. I cursed why I was not dancing, and why I had left where it all began to begin with. But I have no power of that or of blessings, but of memory and passing that all was made within me and spread around, touching all color and wind to people I met down at the town, who would give me jobs to shut me up and use my interview words for their advertisement—when blue is used in a way you do not agree with. I sat up, blessed to be blooming my own orange thoughts, with my feet dangling off the edge, becoming an item of the library, waiting till the owner alerted, remembering when I had been terrified of the tribes I was with and when they had started to write notes to spite me at the resting spots through spiraling roads and scenic benches. But I found that they were moving onto some other language and wouldn’t decipher my most yellow hints. Sometimes I could see myself turning around and watching all the partners I had for hunting, who saw me as game and charged. So I wandered to a place closer than you’d think, going back again, and started calling myself by my birth name again, and frequently verified whether I had yet to begin morphing into sorcery, head always down. Your parents are supposed to cry when they see you staying crazy, and then once more when you decide to scowl, when they see your hidden house packed up. But I did not see mine at the expensive descent back down, nor a memory to imagine me when I went up, because I strongly believe no one was surprised after I kept saying, “I always will be,” endlessly in stern, when I was younger than young. These thoughts were now merely contemplations of masterpieces and which to soon consume. There were a few favorites I kept stored away in my most decorative confinements—quite literally, quite secretly in mind. But as I started to dress up the characters and start whichever song, I was bombarded with the towers that would guard my thoughts until the ghostly moon I shall be chosen to unlock a way out of this life, the same life I now pronounce upright and with intimidating power. The tip of the toe of the boy who I owed had touched the water. Relapsing briefly into letting go of an edge, with rattling venom that some would call “the bottom.” But I stayed up top for now, with my legs hiding under my neck, hunching over just so my eyes could work out simplicities that are endlessly twisted, or possibly the scarce ingredients that are put in to end cruel wars that save the good that few create. Oh, look closely. You see—so serious, so overtaking, all so heavily near me now. He was pushing himself down the hallway, emerged inside the liquid forces. I knew one approaching me was one too many, but he stepped up into the room and did not notice me. The boy took off his soaking clothes, and walked across the room and up the spiraling stairs. He had the sheets of music in his arms that were dry, and it was assumed that he kept them lifted out of kindness. When he made it up the stairs, he unlocked the door and went inside, until he came out with a ginormous maroon bathrobe swallowing him whole. He locked the door and came down, looking at me smiling, and keeping that frame until he came over, close to my feet. The highly fortunate, yet comparably experienced boy said, “Everything starts when it should, it’s a yike.”

Holland Township Illustrates Renewables No Easy Substitute for Gas

Tom Shepstone Shepstone Management Company, Inc.

  Holland Township, New Jersey proves there is no free lunch when it comes to energy. Attempting to address energy needs with anything but reason never works.

Our friend and guest blogger, Jim Willis, over at Marcellus Drilling News, has his ear closer to the ground than anyone I know and regularly picks up stories outside the mainstream of gas industry news. One of those, from Monday of this week, was about a potential new natural gas fueled power plant in Holland Township, Hunterdon County, New Jersey, of all places. He related the details from a NJ Spotlight article focusing on the appearance of Phoenix Energy Center, LLC before the Township Planning Board to discuss the possibility of a new 600 MW power plant at an old industrial site along the Musconetcong River. Could it be? Yes, indeed, because this municipality is slowly learning energy choices aren’t as simple as fractivists have been asserting.

NJ Spotlight, of course, is financially supported by the William Penn Foundation, so news from this source, like that from StateImpactPA, is fractivist-leaning (using the same reporters in some instances). It channels Sierra Club bully Jeff Tittel’s message in this instance and suggests PennEast Pipeline opposition by Holland Township could somehow present an obstacle:

Probably one of the biggest hurdles facing the project is the Musconetcong’s designation as a C1 stream, a classification that includes an anti-degradation policy to protect the water from any deterioration in quality, according to Jeff Tittel, director of the New Jersey Sierra Club.

Typically, power plants require huge amounts of water, which is then discharged at higher temperatures into a nearby waterway. “It’s a C1 stream,’’ Tittel said. “There can’t be any measurable change in water quality.’’

At the planning board meeting, consultants for the company indicated the plant would withdraw up to 5.4 million gallons of water a day from wells or from the river, and discharge more than 1.5 million gallons into the river daily, according to Tittel, who was at the meeting.

There is a nearby pipeline belonging to Elizabethtown Gas that might supply the fuel needed to run the plant, although that connection could pose a problem. Elizabethtown is one of the sponsors of the controversial PennEast pipeline, a 120-mile conduit between Luzerne County, PA, that would end in Mercer County. Holland Township opposes the pipeline.

The idea PennEast opposition presents an obstacle to approval of a plant is politically naive, of course. The plant would pay huge amounts of property taxes or similar payments in lieu of taxes, probably enough to significantly lower other taxes. Does anyone imagine Holland Township isn’t going to seriously consider the proposal under those circumstances? Of course not, and that’s why Jeff Tittel is worried. Likewise, the fact there can’t be any measurable change in water quality is hardly news, as power plants would typically have to meet the highest standards for stream discharges and can do so.

What’s especially interesting in this case, though, is this; Holland Township is not that big a fan of solar and wind. When I read the NJ Spotlight article, I decided to do some research of my own by checking the Township’s online meeting records and see what the planning board minutes might have revealed. The May 14, 2018 minutes (most recent published) offered no more than this:

Discussion took place about one of the old mills becoming a power generating station with cooling water being discharged into the Musconetcong River.

So, I checked further and learned Holland Township has had some experience with solar and wind energy as well, having approved two solar projects and enacted regulations allowing small wind energy systems. The township has also done an update to its Farmland Preservation Plan and the April 9, 2018 included a draft prepared by its Agricultural Advisory Committee (AAC). While solar and wind are Jeff Titell’s standard answer to how New Jersey should meet its future energy needs, the township has adopted a much more skeptical stance, as is obvious from these excerpts:

Proliferation of Solar Farms

Within the Township solar facilities are permitted as principal and accessory uses in certain zones…

Since the 2010 plan, two applications have been approved for solar facilities. The first site is known as Garden Solar located on Spring Mills – Little York Road. The application was filed in September of 2011 and heard between November 2011 and January 2012. The Applicant was approved to construct two solar arrays that are not connected to each other in March of 2012. The second is known as the Mill Road Solar Project, located at 10 Mill Road. This application was filed in January 2016. On November 14, 2016 the application was deemed completed. Public hearings occurred in January, February and May of 2017. The Board approved the application and memorialized the resolution in June of 2017. The site consists of Block 2, Lot 1.02 (abandoned paper mill buildings) and Block 4, Lot 1 (farm fields). The Applicant was approved to construct a solar farm facility consisting of three distinct solar arrays on the site, generating 8.9 megawatts…

A 9.9 MW solar system in Howell, NJ that will, in reality produce less than a third of that and consumes as much land as a gas plant with a real capacity of 200 ± times much power.

It should be noted that in 2009 the State passed legislation that added “wind, solar or photovoltaic energy facility(ies) or structure(s)” as inherently beneficial uses. The statute also permits renewable energy facilities on parcels of 20 or more acres owned by the same entity in all industrial zones.

In October of 2012, the New Jersey Department of Environmental Protection issued a Solar Siting Analysis…

The report provides two categories – sites preferred by the Department for Solar Development and sites not preferred by the Department for Solar Development. Page 5 commences the discussion of preferred sites, which are summarized below:

 Existing impervious surface  Properly capped/closed landfills and remediated brownfields  Landfills requiring proper closure and brownfields requiring remediation  Barren and disturbed uplands

Sites not preferred by the Department for Solar Development are as follows:

Agriculture – Agricultural lands provide important and economically valuable ecosystem services including stormwater retention, preservation of soil and water resources, wildlife habitat, and carbon sequestration. … A solar project could potentially damage agricultural land, impede or reduce the productive agricultural capacity of the land for future use, and displace wildlife habitat.”

Natural and/or protected lands – “Solar projects on natural and/or protected lands such as forest, wetlands, flood hazard areas, wildlife habitat, open space, historic lands, etc. are also not preferred.”

…In reviewing any future solar applications, the AAC encourages the Planning and Zoning Board to refer to this guidance document in evaluating the site(s) selected by the developer.

The AAC is concerned about the impact solar facilities will have on the Township’s view sheds as well as the impact to farmland soils where these arrays are installed.

Wind Energy

In May of 2010 the Township Committee adopted Ordinance 2010-14, which permits small wind energy systems as conditional uses in the Limited Industrial Park District. There are 13 conditions. The maximum tower height is 120 feet. The Ordinance also permits small wind energy systems as an accessory use to a permitted farm that encompasses 20 or more contiguous acres within the Limited Industrial Park District. Small wind energy systems are also permitted as an accessory use to an agricultural use on at least 20 acres in the R-1 and R-5 Residential Districts.

As noted in the section above, wind energy facilities have been determined by the State to be inherently beneficial uses.

The AAC has expressed concern about the potential development of wind energy in the future. The Committee is apprehensive about the potential view shed impacts to what is otherwise a bucolic landscape.

The same document also raised concerns about the PennEast Pipeline (all non-issues in the real world) but that was to be expected. What might be surprising to some is Holland Township’s concern with the “proliferation of solar farms” and wind energy for some of the same reasons, mostly aesthetic. If preserving bucolic landscapes is the goal, we might ask how a solar or wind farm could possibly be less visually impactful than this pipeline near my home:

But, the bigger point is that energy choices, like doing anything else, involves tradeoffs and, as Tony Ingraffea learned to his regret in Ithaca, renewables are no easier to sell to NIMBYs than gas projects. The same people who oppose pipelines and power plants also oppose solar and wind when it’s tried on any scale.

Moreover, solar and wind are far more visually impactful and far more more land consuming per MW of energy produced than almost anything else. Holland Township has merely confirmed what I know from my professional experience in reviewing these projects for municipalities. Those opposed to gas also oppose solar and wind anywhere near their own properties, regardless of the worthiness of the project or their own previous statements supporting solar and wind elsewhere.

What Holland Township is learning, like so many others, is that there are no free energy lunches, despite everything Jeff Tittel and friends have told them. Energy production, like anything else, has impacts. We’ll see what happens with this proposed power plant. I can only imagine the opposition from Tracy Carluccio, Deputy Delaware Povertykeeper, who virtually runs the New Jersey Highlands Council, after all.

The post Holland Township Illustrates Renewables No Easy Substitute for Gas appeared first on Natural Gas Now.

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Forest Preschools Let Kids Run Free, But Can They Change to Reach Diverse Families?

A 2½-year-old boy named Ben was ankle-deep in a Jefferson County creek when suddenly he lost his footing and plopped onto his bottom in the cold shallow water. The fall didn’t faze him. Neither did his dripping shorts. He got up and kept playing.

About a dozen children frolicked in or near the creek that day — making pretend tea in small metal buckets, building dams with sticks and mud, or inspecting bugs that flitted nearby.

It was a typical day at Worldmind Nature Immersion School, one of a growing number of programs where toddlers, preschoolers, and kindergarteners spend all their time outside — no matter the weather.

“When children look like they’re playing in nature, huge amounts of learning is taking place,” said Erin Kenny, founder of the American Forest Kindergarten Association and the co-founder of a pioneering outdoor preschool program in Washington state.

Established first in Scandinavia, such “forest schools” occupy a steadily expanding niche in the American early-childhood landscape. But even with the movement’s popularity, advocates wonder if it can reach beyond the homogenous slice of families — mostly middle-class and white — it now serves.

Advocates like Kenny lament the academic push found in many traditional preschools and say that young children thrive outdoors — developing independence, resilience, and other valuable social-emotional skills.

Parents say their kids like the expansive space, non-stop play, and dearth of rules in outdoor classes. And as long as they’re dressed for the conditions, they take rain, snow, or frigid temperatures in stride.

Megan Patterson, the founder of Worldmind Nature Immersion School, pretends her preschool students are penguin chicks. (Photo by Ann Schimke/Chalkbeat)

“I think it’s great to come in bad weather,” said Denver parent Tracy Larson, who has two children in the Worldmind class. “It makes us go outside when we’re at home in bad weather too … You’re not afraid of it.”

Forest schools nationwide face significant regulatory and logistical barriers to expanding their footprint — and serving students of color and those from low-income families.

“This movement is not going to move forward or it’s going to be stigmatized if we don’t rapidly move the needle from white middle-class to all-inclusive,” said Kenny.

Perhaps the most immediate problem is that states have no rules for outdoor-based programs that serve young children and thus, no way to grant them child care licenses. Besides signaling that programs meet basic health and safety rules, a license opens the door to state subsidies that help low-income families pay for child care.

In Colorado, the inability to get licensed means that forest schools can only have up to four young children in a class or, as is the case at Worldmind, must require parents to stay for each session. But licensing rules here could soon change. The same is true in Washington state, where there are dozens of outdoor preschool programs.

Government officials in both states are working with outdoor preschool providers as part of pilot programs that could lead to creating a child care license for outdoor preschools. The idea is to ensure children’s safety without stamping out the creek-wading, tree-climbing sensibilities that make the programs what they are.

Kenny said there are now around 50 forest preschools in the U.S. and another 200 “nature schools,” which put a major emphasis on outdoor learning but have buildings, too. Colorado and Washington are the only ones she knows of that are actively exploring special licensing classifications for outdoor preschools, but hopes their pilot programs will build momentum nationally.

“I used to feel I was riding the crest of a wave,” she said. “Now I feel the wave has crashed and it’s moving in ripples everywhere.

TESTING THE MODEL

In Colorado, two providers — Worldmind and a Denver-based program called The Nursery School — are participating in the state pilot program. It starts this month for the Nursery School and in August for Worldmind. Both providers will be allowed to serve up to 10 children ages 3 to 6 during half-day sessions without parents present. The schools must adhere to a staff-student ratio of 1 to 5 — stricter than what is required in a traditional preschool.

They’ll also have to abide by other rules, including keeping tree-climbing children within arm’s reach and seeking indoor shelter in extreme weather.

In addition, both programs will track heaps of data, ranging from hourly weather changes to the circumstances behind any wildlife encounters or potty accidents. State licensing officials will also visit each program regularly. The pilot will run through February — to capture all kinds of Colorado weather — with a licensing decision possible in the summer of 2019.

Matt Hebard, a former preschool teacher and early childhood school district administrator, launched The Nursery School with Brett Dabb last fall at Denver’s Bluff Lake Nature Center. In recent weeks, the handful of children enrolled there have spotted newly hatched goslings and mule deer, and made “snowmen” with fluff from cottonwood trees.

The two men first conceived of the school in 2013 during their time in an early childhood leadership program and soon after discovered the long, bureaucracy-laden road to state recognition. There were waiver applications, denials, a hearing before the state attorney general, and even a look at whether state legislation would further the cause of outdoor preschools in Colorado.

“It’s been slow going,” but worthwhile, Hebard said. “It’s going to allow other practitioners to open outdoor preschools … It’s going to give parents another option.”

A child plays in the limbs of a tree at Matthews/Winters Park in Jefferson County. (Photo by Ann Schimke/Chalkbeat)

Megan Patterson, a former elementary school teacher in Alaska and Colorado, launched Worldmind in 2015 — complying with state rules by offering “child and caregiver” classes at local parks and botanical gardens in Boulder County and metro Denver.

“I studied urban ecology in Boston and after that I realized … how important it is to connect kids to places around where they live,” she said. “I finally found the type of education I believe in 100 percent.”

State officials say they have been approached by other outdoor preschool providers interested in the pilot, but don’t plan to expand it beyond the two programs, and the roughly 40 children they’ll serve during the pilot period.

“We feel the model needs to be even more rigorous in the state of Colorado,” said Erin Mewhinney, director of the state’s early care and learning division in the office of early childhood.

She said while forest schools are popular in United Kingdom — where leaders of Worldmind and The Nursery School have both attended special teacher training courses — Colorado weather and terrain pose different challenges

“We all love the outdoors, but we all know how dangerous it is and we’re trying to strike a balance with that license type,” she said.

A SENSE OF FREEDOM

The recent Worldmind class where 2-year-old Ben plopped in the creek took place at Matthews/Winters Park in Golden on a warm, sunny May morning. While Patterson offered some general structure to the dozen kids in attendance — a snack break, a brief discussion of a picture book they’d read, and a chance to feel animal pelts, the kids were mostly free to do what they wanted.

Their parents lingered nearby, chatting with each other, chasing after younger siblings, or joining their kids in the creek or on a green tarp laid out nearby. It felt like a big, free-flowing playdate in the woods.

To be sure, there were the usual little-kid frustrations. One small girl, after repeatedly scrambling up the bank of the creek without much trouble, was reduced to tears once her hands went from merely dirty to muddy.

Worldmind’s upcoming pilot program class will look similar to the child and caregiver class, though without the parents. It will take place at Denver’s City Park, with the adjacent Denver Museum of Nature and Science serving as a backup in case of extreme weather.

Several parents who attended the recent class at Matthews/Winters Park said they planned to send their children to the pilot program. They often used the same word to describe why they liked the outdoor classes: Freedom.

Brittany Courville, of Lakewood, said she brought her 5-year-old daughter Siena to her first Worldmind session after the family relocated to Colorado from Texas a few years ago. The move had been jarring for the then 2-year-old, but the outdoor class seemed to restore her spirits.

“She loved it … It was freezing and she didn’t want to leave,” said Courville. “You know, you go to library story times — ‘Sit down. Do this. Do that’ — and she came here and there were other kids she could play with and also be herself and just explore.”

A girl plays during a Worldmind Nature Immersion School class at Matthews/Winters Park in Jefferson County. (Chalkbeat/Ann Schimke)

Brit Lease, a Denver resident and the mother of 2-year-old Ben, has friends who are excited that their daughter’s preschool has pledged she’ll be reading on a first-grade level by the time she starts kindergarten. But Lease doesn’t want that for Ben.

“What social-emotional learning did they miss out on or interpersonal kinds of things did they miss out on because they were so focused on learning how to read?” she asked.

While she talked, Ben growled like a tiger and showed off his “sword” — fashioned out of two thin branches bound together with black cord.

“My theory right now is just let them be kids as long as they can because it does start sooner,” Lease said. “Kindergarten is no joke anymore.”

A BIGGER TENT

While Patterson launched Worldmind with a primary focus on getting kids outside, she’s lately shifted her goals. The organization is revamping its mission to aim for racial and ethnic, socioeconomic, cultural, and ability diversity.

If Worldmind becomes licensed, she also plans to accept state child-care subsidies. Tuition for four half-days of forest school during the fall semester of the pilot project runs about $2,900.

But like other outdoor preschool providers, Patterson knows the typical part-day forest school schedule doesn’t work for everybody.

In part to accommodate working parents, Patterson hopes by the fall of 2019 to open a brick-and-mortar child care center that would still focus on outdoor learning, while enabling Worldmind to serve infants and toddlers, and offer full-day care for children up to age 6.

Megan Patterson, the founder of Worldmind Nature Immersion School, talks with two children while others play nearby. (Photo by Ann Schimke/Chalkbeat)

Hebard said he doesn’t plan to accept child-care subsidies because they come with requirements he thinks don’t apply to an outdoor preschool model. These include evaluating students using a state-approved assessment tool.

Still, he would eventually like to raise money for a scholarship program. But with only a handful of tuition-paying families enrolled now and much of his extra time spent working nights at UPS Inc., that reality could be a ways off.

“It would be nice to have a broader demographic,” he said. “It’s a good opportunity for any child.”

Nationally, some forest preschools have come up with creative ways to open their doors to a wider slice of their communities. For example, the Forest Freedom School, based in Oakland, gives students of a color a 30 percent break on tuition. It’s billed as the “Struggle Is Real” discount.

Aside from financial obstacles, there can be cultural barriers that make outdoor preschools perplexing or unthinkable for some families. These may include worries that children will get sick if they spend time in the rain and cold or simply the sense that school isn’t an outdoor activity.

Hebard said a colleague at another organization told him about concerns voiced by parents about plans to replace the preschool’s brightly colored plastic play equipment with a nature-themed playground. Some of the parents worked outside all day and were put off by the idea of their children playing in the dirt at school.

Overcoming those perceptions will take parent education and outreach to local groups that work with communities of color, forest school leaders say.

Kenny said programs must be aggressive about serving all kinds of families. And it’s not just tuition help that’s needed, she said. Because children are outside in all kinds of weather, families may need help ensuring their children have access to high-quality clothing and gear.

“It’s incumbent on these schools to offer some kind of assistance because right now the government’s not doing it, nobody’s doing it,” she said.

Chalkbeat is a nonprofit news site covering educational change in public schools.

Forest Preschools Let Kids Run Free, But Can They Change to Reach Diverse Families? published first on https://dlbusinessnow.tumblr.com/

Forest Preschools Let Kids Run Free, But Can They Change to Reach Diverse Families?

A 2½-year-old boy named Ben was ankle-deep in a Jefferson County creek when suddenly he lost his footing and plopped onto his bottom in the cold shallow water. The fall didn’t faze him. Neither did his dripping shorts. He got up and kept playing.

About a dozen children frolicked in or near the creek that day — making pretend tea in small metal buckets, building dams with sticks and mud, or inspecting bugs that flitted nearby.

It was a typical day at Worldmind Nature Immersion School, one of a growing number of programs where toddlers, preschoolers, and kindergarteners spend all their time outside — no matter the weather.

“When children look like they’re playing in nature, huge amounts of learning is taking place,” said Erin Kenny, founder of the American Forest Kindergarten Association and the co-founder of a pioneering outdoor preschool program in Washington state.

Established first in Scandinavia, such “forest schools” occupy a steadily expanding niche in the American early-childhood landscape. But even with the movement’s popularity, advocates wonder if it can reach beyond the homogenous slice of families — mostly middle-class and white — it now serves.

Advocates like Kenny lament the academic push found in many traditional preschools and say that young children thrive outdoors — developing independence, resilience, and other valuable social-emotional skills.

Parents say their kids like the expansive space, non-stop play, and dearth of rules in outdoor classes. And as long as they’re dressed for the conditions, they take rain, snow, or frigid temperatures in stride.

Megan Patterson, the founder of Worldmind Nature Immersion School, pretends her preschool students are penguin chicks. (Photo by Ann Schimke/Chalkbeat)

“I think it’s great to come in bad weather,” said Denver parent Tracy Larson, who has two children in the Worldmind class. “It makes us go outside when we’re at home in bad weather too … You’re not afraid of it.”

Forest schools nationwide face significant regulatory and logistical barriers to expanding their footprint — and serving students of color and those from low-income families.

“This movement is not going to move forward or it’s going to be stigmatized if we don’t rapidly move the needle from white middle-class to all-inclusive,” said Kenny.

Perhaps the most immediate problem is that states have no rules for outdoor-based programs that serve young children and thus, no way to grant them child care licenses. Besides signaling that programs meet basic health and safety rules, a license opens the door to state subsidies that help low-income families pay for child care.

In Colorado, the inability to get licensed means that forest schools can only have up to four young children in a class or, as is the case at Worldmind, must require parents to stay for each session. But licensing rules here could soon change. The same is true in Washington state, where there are dozens of outdoor preschool programs.

Government officials in both states are working with outdoor preschool providers as part of pilot programs that could lead to creating a child care license for outdoor preschools. The idea is to ensure children’s safety without stamping out the creek-wading, tree-climbing sensibilities that make the programs what they are.

Kenny said there are now around 50 forest preschools in the U.S. and another 200 “nature schools,” which put a major emphasis on outdoor learning but have buildings, too. Colorado and Washington are the only ones she knows of that are actively exploring special licensing classifications for outdoor preschools, but hopes their pilot programs will build momentum nationally.

“I used to feel I was riding the crest of a wave,” she said. “Now I feel the wave has crashed and it’s moving in ripples everywhere.

TESTING THE MODEL

In Colorado, two providers — Worldmind and a Denver-based program called The Nursery School — are participating in the state pilot program. It starts this month for the Nursery School and in August for Worldmind. Both providers will be allowed to serve up to 10 children ages 3 to 6 during half-day sessions without parents present. The schools must adhere to a staff-student ratio of 1 to 5 — stricter than what is required in a traditional preschool.

They’ll also have to abide by other rules, including keeping tree-climbing children within arm’s reach and seeking indoor shelter in extreme weather.

In addition, both programs will track heaps of data, ranging from hourly weather changes to the circumstances behind any wildlife encounters or potty accidents. State licensing officials will also visit each program regularly. The pilot will run through February — to capture all kinds of Colorado weather — with a licensing decision possible in the summer of 2019.

Matt Hebard, a former preschool teacher and early childhood school district administrator, launched The Nursery School with Brett Dabb last fall at Denver’s Bluff Lake Nature Center. In recent weeks, the handful of children enrolled there have spotted newly hatched goslings and mule deer, and made “snowmen” with fluff from cottonwood trees.

The two men first conceived of the school in 2013 during their time in an early childhood leadership program and soon after discovered the long, bureaucracy-laden road to state recognition. There were waiver applications, denials, a hearing before the state attorney general, and even a look at whether state legislation would further the cause of outdoor preschools in Colorado.

“It’s been slow going,” but worthwhile, Hebard said. “It’s going to allow other practitioners to open outdoor preschools … It’s going to give parents another option.”

A child plays in the limbs of a tree at Matthews/Winters Park in Jefferson County. (Photo by Ann Schimke/Chalkbeat)

Megan Patterson, a former elementary school teacher in Alaska and Colorado, launched Worldmind in 2015 — complying with state rules by offering “child and caregiver” classes at local parks and botanical gardens in Boulder County and metro Denver.

“I studied urban ecology in Boston and after that I realized … how important it is to connect kids to places around where they live,” she said. “I finally found the type of education I believe in 100 percent.”

State officials say they have been approached by other outdoor preschool providers interested in the pilot, but don’t plan to expand it beyond the two programs, and the roughly 40 children they’ll serve during the pilot period.

“We feel the model needs to be even more rigorous in the state of Colorado,” said Erin Mewhinney, director of the state’s early care and learning division in the office of early childhood.

She said while forest schools are popular in United Kingdom — where leaders of Worldmind and The Nursery School have both attended special teacher training courses — Colorado weather and terrain pose different challenges

“We all love the outdoors, but we all know how dangerous it is and we’re trying to strike a balance with that license type,” she said.

A SENSE OF FREEDOM

The recent Worldmind class where 2-year-old Ben plopped in the creek took place at Matthews/Winters Park in Golden on a warm, sunny May morning. While Patterson offered some general structure to the dozen kids in attendance — a snack break, a brief discussion of a picture book they’d read, and a chance to feel animal pelts, the kids were mostly free to do what they wanted.

Their parents lingered nearby, chatting with each other, chasing after younger siblings, or joining their kids in the creek or on a green tarp laid out nearby. It felt like a big, free-flowing playdate in the woods.

To be sure, there were the usual little-kid frustrations. One small girl, after repeatedly scrambling up the bank of the creek without much trouble, was reduced to tears once her hands went from merely dirty to muddy.

Worldmind’s upcoming pilot program class will look similar to the child and caregiver class, though without the parents. It will take place at Denver’s City Park, with the adjacent Denver Museum of Nature and Science serving as a backup in case of extreme weather.

Several parents who attended the recent class at Matthews/Winters Park said they planned to send their children to the pilot program. They often used the same word to describe why they liked the outdoor classes: Freedom.

Brittany Courville, of Lakewood, said she brought her 5-year-old daughter Siena to her first Worldmind session after the family relocated to Colorado from Texas a few years ago. The move had been jarring for the then 2-year-old, but the outdoor class seemed to restore her spirits.

“She loved it … It was freezing and she didn’t want to leave,” said Courville. “You know, you go to library story times — ‘Sit down. Do this. Do that’ — and she came here and there were other kids she could play with and also be herself and just explore.”

A girl plays during a Worldmind Nature Immersion School class at Matthews/Winters Park in Jefferson County. (Chalkbeat/Ann Schimke)

Brit Lease, a Denver resident and the mother of 2-year-old Ben, has friends who are excited that their daughter’s preschool has pledged she’ll be reading on a first-grade level by the time she starts kindergarten. But Lease doesn’t want that for Ben.

“What social-emotional learning did they miss out on or interpersonal kinds of things did they miss out on because they were so focused on learning how to read?” she asked.

While she talked, Ben growled like a tiger and showed off his “sword” — fashioned out of two thin branches bound together with black cord.

“My theory right now is just let them be kids as long as they can because it does start sooner,” Lease said. “Kindergarten is no joke anymore.”

A BIGGER TENT

While Patterson launched Worldmind with a primary focus on getting kids outside, she’s lately shifted her goals. The organization is revamping its mission to aim for racial and ethnic, socioeconomic, cultural, and ability diversity.

If Worldmind becomes licensed, she also plans to accept state child-care subsidies. Tuition for four half-days of forest school during the fall semester of the pilot project runs about $2,900.

But like other outdoor preschool providers, Patterson knows the typical part-day forest school schedule doesn’t work for everybody.

In part to accommodate working parents, Patterson hopes by the fall of 2019 to open a brick-and-mortar child care center that would still focus on outdoor learning, while enabling Worldmind to serve infants and toddlers, and offer full-day care for children up to age 6.

Megan Patterson, the founder of Worldmind Nature Immersion School, talks with two children while others play nearby. (Photo by Ann Schimke/Chalkbeat)

Hebard said he doesn’t plan to accept child-care subsidies because they come with requirements he thinks don’t apply to an outdoor preschool model. These include evaluating students using a state-approved assessment tool.

Still, he would eventually like to raise money for a scholarship program. But with only a handful of tuition-paying families enrolled now and much of his extra time spent working nights at UPS Inc., that reality could be a ways off.

“It would be nice to have a broader demographic,” he said. “It’s a good opportunity for any child.”

Nationally, some forest preschools have come up with creative ways to open their doors to a wider slice of their communities. For example, the Forest Freedom School, based in Oakland, gives students of a color a 30 percent break on tuition. It’s billed as the “Struggle Is Real” discount.

Aside from financial obstacles, there can be cultural barriers that make outdoor preschools perplexing or unthinkable for some families. These may include worries that children will get sick if they spend time in the rain and cold or simply the sense that school isn’t an outdoor activity.

Hebard said a colleague at another organization told him about concerns voiced by parents about plans to replace the preschool’s brightly colored plastic play equipment with a nature-themed playground. Some of the parents worked outside all day and were put off by the idea of their children playing in the dirt at school.

Overcoming those perceptions will take parent education and outreach to local groups that work with communities of color, forest school leaders say.

Kenny said programs must be aggressive about serving all kinds of families. And it’s not just tuition help that’s needed, she said. Because children are outside in all kinds of weather, families may need help ensuring their children have access to high-quality clothing and gear.

“It’s incumbent on these schools to offer some kind of assistance because right now the government’s not doing it, nobody’s doing it,” she said.

Chalkbeat is a nonprofit news site covering educational change in public schools.

Forest Preschools Let Kids Run Free, But Can They Change to Reach Diverse Families? published first on https://greatpricecourse.tumblr.com/

My DIY Solar Power Setup – Free Energy for Life

It is pretty well known at this point that Mr. Money Mustache is enamored with solar power. Besides the obvious Sci-Fi coolness of it (Electricity, Satellites, Futuristic Robots!) and the eco-friendliness of it (energy with zero noise or pollution), in the last five years the money side of things has finally matured, so that solar power is now the cheapest way to make electricity – even before you account for the added bonus of any available subsidies and the benefits of pollution-free living.

A Watt of Solar Panels: From $100+ to under fifty cents (2017) in less than my lifetime (image source cleantechnica). And the 2017 number for the blue side of the graph hit over 95,000 MW.

It works for individuals: In many cases, if you can get a good rack of solar panels on your roof, your monthly savings will be equivalent to making an investment that performs better than the stock market. But the numbers look even better as your solar setup becomes larger, like if you’re running a solar energy utility or a community solar farm.

Related: In recent Colorado Energy Bids, Solar energy is the cheapest option, even when backed by battery storage (Vox).

The fun part of this for me has always been the physics. Ever since I learned how much energy the Sun shines onto our planet’s surface (about 16,000 times more energy than all of humanity consumes, even with our current bloated habits), I have been certain that a mostly-solar-electric world was inevitable. The only obstructions were human inertia and politics, which are temporary. Physics is forever.

For example, consider the following map showing the tiny amount of our deserts we would need to cover with solar panels to replace��all energy consumption (electricity, oil, gas, nuclear, hydro, wind, etc)

Fig. 1: Tiny land area required to power all of humanity. (image source)

And it’s actually even better than that: the image above assumes an old-school solar panel efficiency of 8%, whereas 18% is now a standard rate. So you can cut the black dots in half again, and then chop a few more times to account for the other existing clean energy sources.

And of course, you don’t have to concentrate the panels and run giant power lines everywhere as implied by the map. You can stick solar panels virtually anywhere and they will start working like little employees for you, tirelessly cranking out energy (which is equivalent to money) and automatically.

Which is of course the real subject of this article.

My DIY Solar Project

The new solar array at the MMM HQ workshop generates more than enough power to run the whole property year-round, plus charge the electric cars of the various members.

So naturally, I have always wanted to have my own solar power farm. Until now, various excuses kept me from getting it done: no great places to put panels on the roof of my main house, slightly unfavorable local regulations, but mainly a lack of knowledge of exactly what to buy and how to install it.

I vowed that whenever I finally got this project done, I’d write up a report to you, to spare you some of the research and time consumption that I had to go through.

So let’s get into it!

Part One: Show me the Money

As you can see from the picture above, I’ve started by building a relatively small solar array. There are twelve panels, each about 40 x 60 inches. Each one generates 300 watts of electricity when the sun shines, and when you run the numbers for my climate, the whole setup will crank out about 6100 kWh/year of electricity, a chunk which is worth about $732 per year at average US power prices.

Pretty amazing – enough energy to run my coworking space and Mrs. MM’s adjacent retail store… from a chunk of pretty black glass that is about the same size as a single car parking space!

Meanwhile, the wholesale cost of this equipment broke down roughly like this:

12 solar panels at $130 each: $1656 (a total of 3600 watts at 46 cents per watt)

12 Optimizer modules (which increase power output during partial shade): $650

One SolarEdge 6 kW Inverter (converts the DC current from the panels to AC for the grid): $1102

Various brackets, mounting racks, bolts, and wiring stuff: $460

So my total cost, due to the very good luck of having a friend who is both a dedicated Mustachian and the owner of a booming solar company, was $3900.

That’s the best case, but even after you add normal profit margins plus a 30% tariff that The Donald recently levied on solar panels (and remember the panels are thankfully only half the cost of the system), you can still buy a similar Complete kit for $6000 including shipping.

When you’re measuring the annual return on your investment (or “payback period”), there’s only one thing that matters on the cost side: price per watt. I ended up building this system at about $1.08 per watt, which is low by today’s standards but will soon sound high.

And remember, there are usually tax incentives to cut this cost further  – you can take 30% off the top of this cost due to the US Federal “Investment Tax Credit (ITC)“, and possibly more from your state and local government or utility.

The Great Solar Journey to Durango

Last year, I met a badass Mustachian entrepreneur named John. He was in Longmont to visit some family here, but his real home base is in Durango, Colorado where he runs a successful solar installation company called Shaw Solar. There are a million stories that need to be told about this man, but for now we’ll start with this one.

Knowing how long I had been interested in a do-it-yourself solar project, John decided to step up and help me get it done at last. We went over technical details, calculations, strategies, and costs. All of this culminated in me taking a spectacular roadtrip to Durango along with another local friend, in May of 2017.

It was quite a trip, for much more than the acquisition of solar panels and advice. Durango is a stunning little town, and it turned out that John lives in a community of equally impressive siblings and friends – for example his brother Charles who DIY-renovated a 50,000 square foot school over a 20-year period, which has now become the jewel of Durango’s downtown.

Time For the Build

I drove back from this trip full of confidence and energy… only to end up storing the solar panels for months in my studio building as I worked to finish higher-priority parts of the Headquarters building, then waited for the time and motivation to plow through the building permit application.

It took another visit from John to really kickstart the project, and once we worked through it I realized my worry was completely unfounded – if you know what you’re doing, a simple solar array can be completely installed by two people in a less than a day’s work. Here’s what we ended up doing.

Step Zero: Research and Permit

Begin with the end in mind. The amazing Kari Spotts (LPC’s lead of renewable power metering) helps me swap in a new dual-flow electric meter at the successful completion of this project.

This is the part that stops most people before they even begin. The quickest shortcut is that if you’re not interested in these details, find someone who is, to catapult you through it. But if you have enough curiosity to learn the details, here they are:

How big a system should I build? In general, the bigger, the better. The cost per watt goes down as your system grows, making it a higher annual yield on the investment.

“I don’t live in Colorado. How much juice will I get out of it where I live?” This part is fun: The National Renewable Energy Lab runs a great, free calculator called PVWatts that does it all for you: factoring in average weather and solar angles in your area, even allowing you to specify solar panels placed at any crazy angle you like. (In other words, your house doesn’t have to have a perfect South-facing roof).

“Do I need some of those Tesla Powerwall Batteries too?” No. Unless you’re building an off-the-grid cabin, in almost all cases you will want to “grid-tie” your solar array, so you can effectively sell your surplus electricity back to the power company (and thus, other nearby customers), cleaning up your whole town and saving the huge cost of batteries. The Powerwall works great if you want protection from power outages, however, and can even pay for itself if you live somewhere with a smart grid that allows day/night price arbitrage.

“How do I get a permit to build this thing?” Your city’s building department probably has a page describing how to apply. For example, here’s the one for Longmont. The trickiest part is generating a “one-line diagram”, but I cheated by just photoshopping my own details into the example provided with my city, leading to this result, which they approved without question.

Step One: Layout

I had a nice, simple roof that was already facing South, tilted up at a 30 degree angle, which is just about perfect for solar panels. But you can also put them on other slopes or flat roofs, and they still work surprisingly well.

I needed two rails for each row of panels, and the rails get supported by “L”-shaped brackets bolted into the roof. So I ended up with this configuration:

Laying out support brackets, rails, panels, and power inverter.

Important consideration: Because I was putting this on a garage roof (technically “unoccupied space”), I was able to squeeze them all the way to the roof edge. If you are installing on a house, your city’s fire code may require that you leave a 3 foot walking access around the edges. Sometimes it’s wise to think outside the box: a garage roof, a standalone ground-mounted rack if you have lots of unused land, or creating the new workshop/carport/garden shed you’ve always wanted in the sunniest part of your yard.

2: Install your Brackets and Rails

Once you figure out where to put the long “lines” shown above, you measure them out and snap chalk lines right over top of your existing roof material. Then, use some sturdy 2.5″ lag bolts and washers to hold down the L-shaped brackets that come with the solar racking kit. Pre-drill each hole, and inject in some “Through the Roof” sealant with a normal caulk gun before driving in those bolts – this creates a permanent watertight seal. (There are also special brackets to accommodate different roof styles like tile and metal).

Once the brackets are in, you simply use the supplied slide-in bolts and nuts to attach the long rails, straighten them up nicely, and lock it down. Doing all of this with a cordless impact driver makes it quick and clean.

3: Bolt down and connect the Optimizers if you’ve Got ‘Em

These are just little flat boxes that you connect to the top of each pair of rails, about 6″ from the eventual right edge of each solar panel. There’s one optimizer for each panel, and it acts like a babysitter – monitoring output from the panel, compensating for voltage changes when necessary (such as when shade hits that panel). You’ll notice that each optimizer has four wires protruding from it, and there’s one optimizer for each panel. This will make sense in the next step.

Optimizer mounting (face down), plus a good shot of the connections between roof, brackets, and rails.

  Once all the optimizers are in place, you connect each pair of longer wires together with the incredibly convenient fast-click connectors. The positive and negative wires have differently shaped connectors so you can’t accidentally reverse them.

You end up connecting inverters to each other, and each panel only to its host inverter, like this:

Inverter to panel connections

If you have two lines of panels as I do, connect the far end of one line to the far end of the next line, so you end up with a long series of optimizers where both ends terminate with a loose wire on the end closest to your inverter.

Grounding is Important: Using the supplied grounding screw terminals, connect all the rails together with bare 10AWG copper wire. From that last terminal, you’ll be running a length of the same size wire down to the inverter.

4: Install the Solar Panels!

The bottom of each panel has two long output wires. Use clips and/or zip ties to keep the cables tidy so they don’t dangle onto the roof too much.

This step is better with two people, especially on a steep roof. Starting at the furthest corner from the location of your inverter, connect each the panel’s wires to the matching ones on its host inverter. Set the panels down straight, and use the click-in clamps that come with the racking system to clamp down the panel using your cordless drill/driver.

By the end of this step, you’ll have one or more tidy lines of panels with just two powerful-looking DC wires poking out the end, with connectors to go.

You’re now ready to build the final run of wire, which will enter a metal conduit and travel through your roof, down the side of your house, and into the inverter.

5: The Home Run:

Drill a 1″ hole in your roof and put a roof boot over top of it, tucked under the upper course of shingles. From there, your goal is to provide a protected path to get the high voltage DC wires to from the panels, down to the inverter.

My city required 3/4″ metal rigid conduit, which gave me the opportunity to learn about the various fittings and connectors that are part of working with conduit. I also bought a conduit bending tool, since there are many more outdoor electrical projects still on the docket for the MMM HQ building.

I ran a length of metal conduit up from the inverter and just beyond the roof boot, then transitioned to a downward-facing connector to some flexible conduit, just to keep the wires covered until they get under the panels. All three conductors including the ground are running through this tube. If doing it again, I’d suggest using a different conduit box for that transition. Also, you can switch from a bare ground wire to a stranded, insulated ground at that point – much easier to pull through!

6: Mounting The Inverter and Connecting it all to the Grid:

The part that sounds the most mysterious is actually one of the most simple:

Hang the inverter on the wall using the supplied bracket and a few screws

Connect the conduit and pull in the DC wires from the solar panels into the inverter’s connection box. On this Solaredge unit, there are nice spring clip terminals.

Do the same on the other side of the connection box, running a length of 10/3 household wiring (for outputs up to 40 amps) right into the breaker box, as if you were hooking up any other 240 volt circuit.

Inverter mounting, including the conduit going up through the roof (left), out to the main breaker box (right), required warning stickers (red), and how it’s hooked up inside (bottom)

7: Get it all Inspected and Power it Up!

The inspector will probably have a nitpick or two with your work. Stay strong and make any required corrections, and pass that inspection. Then you flip on the AC breaker, the DC power switch, the inverter’s main power switch, and poke through the menu systems to make sure everything is set to run the way you like it.

For this Solaredge system, I had to run a “Pairing” step with the power optimizers (see manual), and add a TP-Link Wireless Repeater/Bridge to allow the inverter’s wired Ethernet connection to join my existing property-wide Wi-Fi network. Which happens to be the the spectacularly good Google Mesh Wi-fi system.

So What’s Next?

From this point on, it’s all on automatic pilot. The system generates electricity every day, which reduces the Headquarters power bill down to zero. In winter, the days are shorter so we might consume more than we produce. But in summer, a large surplus will more than make up for it.

My inverter from Solaredge comes with a really nice monitoring features, available from both a phone app and any browser. Plus, you can share a public version of your page with anyone. Here’s one I made for the MMM-HQ array.

At the time of writing, I’ve had the system online for 27 mostly-January days, including a couple of writeoffs where the panels were covered in snow. It has still averaged about 10 kWh of electricity production per day, which is more than the average consumption of the whole facility. Put another way, the 265 kWh of electricity is enough to power an electric car for roughly 1000 miles of driving.

The monitoring tool also estimates about 410 lbs of CO2 emissions prevented, which is 0.2 tons or about $4.00 worth at current carbon cleanup rates. If you happen to care about running a carbon-neutral life (or business) as I do, this means the carbon offset makes your solar electricity about 15% more valuable in your mental accounting.

I can also double or triple the number of panels on this particular system (once I decide on a good place to put them) without changing the inverter or any of the grid-tie connections, which will greatly improve my annual return on investment. It’s just a LEGO-like plug and play to connect more panels to an existing rack of them, plus the inverter has a second set of inputs if you are running in some wires from a string of panels you have placed somewhere else.

My power company pays out a check for any overall surplus at the end of each year, purchasing the power at a wholesale rate. But many regions are more solar-friendly than this, giving you a full retail or even higher rate for solar-generated electricity as an incentive to go green.

The Final Word:

Solar energy is strangely fun to produce – most people report satisfaction far beyond just the monetary benefits. It gets you out there rooting for the Sun, and for your fellow humankind to follow suit and start harvesting it alongside you. So if you’ve been considering getting it done, the time is good.

Thanks again to John Shaw (shawsolar.com) for all the help with this project. If you have questions about the details or the industry in general, please put them in the comments and both John and I should be able to weigh in.

And if you happen to own a home or business around Durango, CO, contact Shaw Solar directly and tell ’em who sent you!

  Rough Edges Alert: I’ve started by publishing this article in an unpolished form, so If you see incorrect details, please let me know and I’ll clean it up over time after publication.

from Money 101 http://www.mrmoneymustache.com/2018/02/07/diy-solar-power/ via http://www.rssmix.com/