The Sound of Trees

It is a moment that happens sometimes in the bush.  One like a breath held, suspending everything.  Just at that moment the gum trees can be heard shedding their year-old bark to reveal a gleaming nakedness.  Not all at once.  Oh no.  Shred by shred, teasing.  Beating their own rhythm as the unwanted cladding finds a path to the undergrowth.

You see and hear it all as you stand, hooked to the ground by the awesomeness of the creature before you.  You are mesmerised, unable to look in any direction, fearing there might be a herd of them.

For an excruciatingly long second you look deeply into its eyes and sense its alertness.  It stares back at you.  Immobile.  It is short and is slender, with four limbs only.  You cannot summon the words to describe its bark, for it seems to be something borrowed, not of the creature itself.  It occurs to you the thing may be dangerous.  You did not actually observe its approach to see how it moved.  Would it shift fast and strike hard, or be slow and poisonous? Even as you consider this, the vile thing blinks and lets out a bellow that whips the stilled air, shattering the tenuous shell of the moment.  It turns and strides away on two of its limbs.

Once again you drink in the scintillating air.  All around you is the whispering of the gum trees stripping.  There is moisture about, sharpening the scent of eucalyptus and plant litter.  Green.  Bittersweet.  A light breeze refreshes and makes you reach ever-higher with your own limbs.  Then - exactly then - caught with your arms out-stretched to their fullest, the creature returns, bringing another of the same kind.  In no hurry, they approach you.  Again you have an inner urge, wishing you could cower or, better still, flee.

The two of them circle you, eyeing your anatomy.  Before you can draw breath, one of the beasts grabs you.  You shriek, but it appears not to hear.  Then your own voice seems to dry up.  You realise in that awful split-second that the presence of these two creatures makes the entire bush silent.

They are chittering away in their own language; they wouldn't hear you no matter how loud your voice.  They are not listening.  Incapable of hearing the gentle sound of undressing trees.

The wind you welcomed before now makes you shudder. The touch of their pallid flesh makes you  squirm.  One of them thumps you - it is barely felt, but the intention behind it scares you.  Both the creatures now bare their teeth as they make a raucous sound, their mouths wide and frightening.  Yet somehow you know it is not their mouths of which you should be scared; one of them picks up something and tugs at it.  The previously quiet and still thing roars unbearably. 

It too has teeth, not hidden but spinning now.  The first creature places this thing against your skin.  You feel its vibration. Tugging.  Gouging.

When it reaches your inner flesh, your own screaming prevents you from any more hearing the other trees..

©Yamini MacLean

Menostruction - Instruction on Destruction

Blame Mara for this one.  It is a bit spooky how this post came about, in fact. For, you see, I had already a week earlier completed and scheduled for FFHT tomorrow. Then along came a message. Mara, it turned out, had decided to have a go at one of my recipes; the one which gets mentioned in tomorrow's FFHT!!! There was a plea in that message... "how, please, to slaughter slice a pumpkin?" Ever ready to provide relevant info, I wrote back. [The white background is because I cut and pasted from my email.]

NB; this post is written as a DIY helpdesk in direct  response to an emergency call. All responsibility for what may result from such instruction is held at the user's end. 
DOUBLE NB; for adults only - and even then, supervision may be advisable. Sharp instruments must be held with respect.

Now the thing is whether you have a whole body pumpkin, or simply part of one... clearly, pieces are slightly easier to truss. Then there is what 'ethnic origin' it has. For example the Butternuts of the world are, generally, rather soft skinned and surrender quite readily to The Blade. The American Orange varieties can vary according to age; bright and yielding in youth but tough and leathery in later stages.. even donning a few warts and lesions for extra effect. The Kabocha is related to the Butternuts, and thus thinner of skin. The Queensland Blue is a bit of a b*****....

Side fact; did you know that there are something like 40 varieties in the world? All are actually, in botanic terms, referred to as Cucurbita (squash), but are called 'pumpkin' for culinary purposes. Pumpkins ARE squash,  and squashes ARE pumpkins. Gourds are also of this family; as are melons, zucchini, marrows and such like. The name 'pumpkin' is an adjective which arose from the Greek word 'pepon' meaning... (wait for it.....) 'large melon'. All are edible, with varying uses. Seeds can be roasted and nibbled like nuts - very nutritious!

All of which is delaying the inevitable. Get a bally big axe errrrrrrrrrr - your bestest kitchen knife - place the pumpkin on a surface where it is a bit lower than waist height so that you can get best purchase (full body weight) behind that weapon - errrrr cutting implement.... ...............of course if you have an axe, the first cut can be done outside with that. Quick and painless.  For you.

If keeping it in the kitchen, do not try to cut in half immediately. Stick the point of the knife into the head top of the fruit, then lever down with as clean a stroke as you can manage. Be prepared for squealing. It's hard work. The pumpkin may object also. It may be worth mentioning, in case not already thought of, that placing the thing on a non-slip surface is advisable. Turn the victim... errrrr fruit... round 180' and repeat this action on the other side. This ought to result in having two halves, joined only by the stalk - unless that has already been removed. Pull that little beauty apart by its shoulders. Ahem. Laying the flesh side down, you can now apply full force with the weapon....errrrr knife... to each half and create another two halves - making quarters. From then on, the whole butchering preparation business will be second nature and you a can keep going till you have the size of chunk you want. NOTICE; if using a Butternut or other elongated variety, the first cut can simply be done across the waist. Job jobbed.

Now, as to removal of the skin itself, this depends on purpose. For soup, clearly one must strip the thing. This is easiest with a pumpkin peeler (see piccie) - but in absence of that, a standard peeler can work, but prepare yourself for some serious RSI - (actually, prepare for RSI anyway; there's a price to pay for slaughtering slicing pumpkins). If no peeler, use the axe....errrrrrr. knife.. whilst the chunks are still quite large and slice down. 

If one is using the pumpkin for other things, it may not be necessary to strip it. As long as the skin is smooth and well washed, it can remain on for things such as roasting/baking along with potatoes and parsnips and such. If being used in a curry, the skin can be left on, as long as you don't mind having to separate it at point of eating. This is regularly done in India and is actually a better option nutritionally as, like most fruits, the bulk of the minerals and vits are just beneath the skin and are therefore preserved. There is an argument for cooking all vegetables and fruits with their skins on, actually, as not only does it keep maximum amount of nutritional elements but, in the majority of cases, makes those elements more bio-available to the human body. It is just that we have tended to want our food ever more 'tidy and inoffensive' and are not prepared to deal with skins on the plate - personally I prefer it. Indeed, taking the (thoroughly scrubbed) skins of potatoes, carrots, some pumpkins and tossing them in olive oil, paprika, light soy sauce, salt and pepper then roasting on triple nova heat can make for some very interesting snackables.

Anyway. As I said in the preceding caveat, what you do in the privacy of your own kitchen is entirely your responsibility and these guidelines in no way constitute an incitement to menompkinocide...

After writing, came across this very nice site... have fun with it!

Menolyrical; Words for Words' Sake

BLOOM

Amongst the crowd you stand out

Decked in all finery flaunted.

Gaudy and flighty and ready to tease,

Yet not so easy to please.

Another comes in imitation.

Should be flattered, but no -

Ahead of the game you have always been,

Step up the colour and gleam.

Fashion trends your currency

Your validation and esteem;

The latest in red, not yesterday's pink,

Or if seen in green you'd sink.

Black is always a safe bet

To show off your sparkles and gold.

Dashes of rainbow lift you from your gloom

As you cling on to youth's bloom.

In fullest growth still glowing,

Basking in  their admiration;

But petals don't last, dropping and fraying;

Truth is you're decaying.

By virtue of birth we die.

It is the only guarantee.

Bloom's an illusion we try to make real,

Won't stay - beg, borrow or steal.

Why not, with grace like the rose,

Accept the measure of God's rod?

Beauty exists.  It just IS.  You will see,

If, like Rose, you can just Be.

B	Being-ness, blessedness, beauty true
L	Love with the capital ell
O	Openness of heart and mind
O	One and one alone to find (in)
M	Meditation, full maturity.  Full.

 ©Yamini Ali MacLean 2013
A repost from the TAKE TOO blog.

Menolyrical; Words for Words' Sake

Lotus, He said

First there was

the dust

the grist of any mill

Then there came

the  water

turned the dust to swill

Vegetation

crawléd

thro' the deep within

Emergéd the

pale bud

of soft moon-like sheen

He lookéd and

a smile

thro' all the world spread

"Thus my work

is ended.

It's Lotus" He said

"Let the ones

who come

more from this terrain

Learn the truth

of living

from her sweet refrain

Ris'n from murk

to beauty

untouched by the grime

Yes let them

see how

from their strife to climb"

A long sigh He 
gave and

spun the final thread

Put to run

this Earth

"yes - Let them" He said.

 ©2013 Yamini Ali MacLean  
                       

Menolyrical; Final Fryday Hairy Tails

Over at Murphy and Stanley's place it is last Friday of the month story day... click to read more!!!

Normally I use a photo to prompt my stories and this is no exception; but we are also given a sentence by M&S which we have to highlight in the story.This month it is

"THE HARDER I TRIED TO GET IT OFF ME…."

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Camouflage

Hamish stopped and stood rigid.

'What is it?!' whispered Whittle by his side, with some degree of urgency.

'Hyoo Mon', Hamish hissed back, 'noo haud yer wheesht afore he catches sight o' oon!'

Whittle wriggled. All this making like monuments was fine and dandy until those soldier ants decided to join the party.  They were beginning to nibble his toes and other parts he'd rather not think about.  He risked a little twist of his head so he could get a better view of the hyoo mon. 

'Hamish?'

'Whit??!!'

'These ants are eating me alive; if we don't move soon they'll have stripped all the leaves and maybe a skin cell or ten...' at which point Whittle gave a great leap, causing the hyoo man to stop and raise his looking tubes. 'Don't you think it would be better if we moved?  He is so small that if we moved towards him I am sure he would run and then we can shift off this ants nest...'

'Dinny be brash lad; yon hyoo mon is likely to go telling tales about jungle dogs and dino-weasles and the next thing ye ken it'll be all machetes and machine saws round here and there would be nothing left to camouflage oorselves with!' 

Whittle jumped again.  'Now whit?!'

'A monster ant! The harder I tried to get it off me the more it dug in...look at this welt!!!'

'Och, haud yer voice doon lad or I'll hand you over to yon hyoo mon masel.' Hamish glared at his sidekick without even turning his head. That sideways glance that only a TerROARier can give. Whittle the dino-weasel solidified beneath that stare. Another minute in their time was twenty of the hyoo mon's. He'd surely be gone by then. 

Wouldn't he...


(c) Yamini Ali MacLean 2014.
This is a re-write of one I made earlier.... yes one of the recycles from the defunct My Take Too bloggy.

..and don't forget our invitation to Blogville!

CLICK HERE TO READ MORE

Menolyrical; A Fractured Fryday Hairy Tale

Over at Murphy and Stanley's place it is last Friday of the month story day... click to read more!!!

Normally I use a photo to prompt my stories and this is no exception; but we are also given a sentence by M&S which we have to highlight in the story.This month it is

"IT SMELLED LIKE..."

_____________________________________________________________________________________

TO THIS END

It looked like
It smelled like
It felt like
It pricked like
a rose
So there
I was

Sitting

Pondering

Wondering

Reviewing

Just viewing

Bathing

in sunrays sent

Lying

Lazing

Musing

Amusing

Silent

Hearing

words ill spent

The rose
stared back
Silent
yet loud
Telling
our bond
Woven we are

Waning

Tilting

Youth gone

Wilting

Droughted

Still roots

in earth deep wend

Drooping

Bending

Twisting

Aging

Releasing

We all

come to this end

That smell
Rotting
Yet still
'Tis said
a rose
by any
other name...

ॐ   © Yamini Ali MacLean    2013

COOEEEEEEE!!!  .....HAVE YOU HEARD???............

...herd???  I thought you lot in numbers were called a pack...

This week you'll have noticed there is a bit of a buzz going on in these pages - you'll read all about it soon...

...but meantime, have you heard this...???.................................

Menolyrical; Words for Words' Sake

Veggie Life

It was all I wanted to do

Sleep in the ground so dark and moist

Safe and wrapped all around

When along came the farmer and – OW!

Not alone every carrot sister too

Was lifted and thrown into the cart

We were not yet full grown

But that didn’t stop the gouging plough.

Tumbled and tossed and onward sold

Helpless we went along with the peas

To market we were sent

Only to have our very worst fears

Confirmed for then came the kitchen

Where Someone’s wife cut sharp through our flesh

With a short blunted knife

Deaf she was to this vegetable’s tears.

Inspired by TAKE THREE    © Yamini Ali MacLean 2013

Menolyrical; Words for Words' Sake

A break from photographs.  Well apart from the prompt for this ditty...

Once upon a time...

Once, 
a time on up
a tree lived me.
High, high, high 
it was, then, 
the storm before.

Now, 
shreds to shorn
I am, 
and tumbled,
distant from trunk-home
and safetree.

Care I? 
Jot a knot!
Freedom is there
to dance 
and curl
then on and on,

to merge 
grass with,
to mud 
sink in,
to petrify; 
feeding the Greater I.

(c) Yamini Ali MacLean 2014

A slight re-ordering of one of the 'recycles'...

Menolyrical; Words for Words' Sake

FOSSIL

Johnstone River, Far North Queensland

Prompting thoughts of
travels made,
of searching times,
of numbers swapped; 
time which strayed
finding places,
sensing land.
Connecting deep
to history lines,
to spirit hand
welded with the roots below.
Whitened, bleached,
weathered slow,
drowned and dried
'neath that Southern
furnace fried.
Nature weaving, working art,
letting drift
the fishes by;
mosquitoes rife
compete with beetle,
touching ripple ,
eating skin,
dragonflies the surface skim.
Cool, in forest
bright and clear,
such this photo
prompts thoughts dear.


© Yamini Ali MacLean 

MenoFiction; Random Tales

As stated on Monday, you will now be subjected to the occasional foray into the imagination. I do not read romantic fiction; however, the rose kept pricking me and this is what appeared. Certainly romance is a popular market... but I'm afraid I just could not face more than one page of this at a time! 


Friday's Flowers

Erith stood and stared at the vase of decaying roses.

Here she was on a Sunday night, trying to get herself together -yet again - in preparation for work tomorrow.  It was the same thing every weekend.  Until this moment though, she hadn't got it into her head that it was her own fault.

Hardy was just, so…  gorgeous!  An Adonis.  Action Man personified.  There he was at her door every Friday evening, red roses in hand, a bottle of bubbly and a plan for some wilderness adventure that would  also involve a lot of frisky physical exploration.  It was an adrenaline boost on all levels and she was hooked.  The man seemed to have no end to his energy.

Then it would all be over.  He'd drop her back at the flat by six o'clock Sunday evening, rarely more than five minutes adrift.  She could only recall one event that caused this scheduling of Hardy's to become unstuck.  A flat tyre is a flat tyre and every car will get one at some stage.

Hardy, though, was beside himself.  Not only the timetable became unstable that day.

Erith shuddered as she remembered the dark cloud that seemed to descend.  As this had occurred only a few weeks into the romance, she had never dared to test out the possibilities that she would have liked, such as "Do you think, Hardy, that we might extend until seven this evening?" or the giant leap of "Hardy, would you stay over at my place on Sunday?".  Something always held her back from this. 

It was now six months into the relationship and no variation at all.  Was it even a relationship?  This thought sprung upon her during the course of today and she blamed Peter for setting this doubt in her mind.

Peter "Plumply" as she liked to tease her co-worker and not-so-secret admirer. Not that he was actually that plump.  Well, not at all really.  He had a pleasantly round face which tended to give that effect.  Not the chiseled tautness of Hardy's.

Peter had, for eighteen months, been bringing Erith a single Gerbera every Monday morning to put on her desk.  He would bring a bag of chocolates to share with all others in the office, but only the one flower arrived.  He would tease her about Hardy at first.  Why she even told him about her boyfriend, she wasn't sure.  She and Peter certainly had an easy rapport with each other during office hours, and during parties or outside events they were equally at ease.  She knew he was soft on her, but he never pressed the issue or made a fool of himself - or her.

It was the latter thing which started to bring a thorn into their contact.  Peter had begun, a few weeks prior, to get more vocal about Hardy, claiming that she was, in fact, making an idiot of herself.  Finally, a month back, he let fly at her.

"Can't you see Erith?  The bloke brings you end-of-week store-bought roses that don't last two days, takes you out of your environment, uses you to his full satisfaction and drops you like a dead petal before racing back to whatever life he has elsewhere.  Do you even know what he actually does?  Then here you are on Monday, exhausted, out of sorts and living only for Friday again, sending messages he never returns.  He's some kind of pathetic automaton and you…!  You're no different from those Friday flowers, stuck in the same old vase and left to wilt!"  

Erith had been aghast.  Then, when no more gerberas came her way, she felt a stabbing inside that she could not understand.

The weekly,  home grown gerbera, brought to her on Monday and still standing by Friday.  The weekly, lovingly tended  gerbera, which was then taken back by the giver to be added to the compost, there to nurture more of its kind.  She missed those gerberas.  She missed her supportive, caring, concerned Peter and hated that he now kept his back to her. 

To hide his own pain, she realised, as her heart shriveled within her.

"Ooohhh!" Erith cried out loud.  Grabbing her telephone, she left one last message for Hardy, then wiped his number from the speed-dial.  Next she grabbed the Friday flowers and put them into an old metal tray, setting light to them.  They burned well and the ashes fitted neatly into a matchbox.  She wrapped this up in white paper and wrote 'sorry' across the top, dropping this into her handbag before going to bed.

On the way to work in the morning, she stopped to buy some gerbera seedlings.

Inspired by TAKE TWENTY FOUR    ©2013 Yamini Ali MacLean