War On

 

A war rages at the Compound. The protagonists?

An exotic duck.

And a ferocious dog, seeking whom he may devour.

You see, what happens here is that the duck flies over the perimeter in search of food and Blue Terminator doesn't take that lying down. No, he advances to contact, slowly, because he's blind. Meanwhile the duck continues, oblivious, until the last moment and then flies away.

Make of this problem farm parable what you will.

Rus in Urbe,

LSP

You Miserable Offender

It started off well, no doubt about it. Morning Prayer on the porch, a stroll to the Pick 'n Steal for coffee, get back on the porch, scan the news, answer emails and then? Stride purposefully to the rig with a view to taking care of business. Turn that key in the ignition and... disaster. The wretched beast wouldn't turn over. Useless.

I knew why, a badly eroded battery terminal connector which I'd been too lazy distracted to replace. So up goes the hood, jig that thing around, turn the key and hope for the best. Fail. Next step. Stare malevolently at the offender, maybe I could scare it into function.

Just then a neighbor pulled up in his daughter's Chevy 1500 Z71, "Need a jump?" No, "Here's the problem." He looked at the malefactor, "You need a new one, I'll drive to Autozone, get the part and hook you up." Which he did, for free, because "you let me park here, least I can do, man."

Good call. He gets to park his monster lifted rigs in the church lot, which is fine by me but offensive to D, another neighbor, who shouts at me from his car, "That dude's panhandln! God will strike him down! Come Lord Jesus and hurry up."

Rural Eschaton aside, I'd say there's a virtue in neighborliness, peace on earth good will towards men, sort of thing. And you never know, they might turn up and fix your truck. Would that happen in the Metrosprawl? 

Not so much,

LSP

It's Dark and Stormy, on the Edge of Time

Driving on the Edge, on the Edge of Time

Lightning, rain, darkness. Just another typical day on the edge of time, except for thunder, which was weirdly missing. One cup of hot tea later and the power went down, which meant shaving by flashlight before climbing into a storm-tossed rig to the eerie cries of terrified peacocks and the forlorn howling of Blue Raskolnikov. 

The Wire

Thirty minutes of apocalyptic driving later I reached my objective, the Cowboy Church's men's prayer breakfast. And I was glad I went, because the cowboys are alright and you always, in my experience, get a good "message." This morning's was on forgiveness; don't hold bitterness, anger and resentment in your heart or it'll chew you up and spit you out. The Gospel's pretty emphatic on that theme.

A Typical Day in Wales

It was light by the time breakfast was over, and I looked out across the wire at rain-soaked Texas. It was like Wales, in August.

Be safe,

LSP

Another Storm

Thunder shakes the house as lightning sheets across the sky and rain lashes down; another storm. I watch the enraged fury of the elements from the comparative safety of the front porch. 

And such is the new normal, here in Texas. Storms, rain, flooding, the Eschaton. Speaking of which, here's an apocalyptic prophecy from Sr. Lucia, one of the Fatima children. She wrote to Cardinal Carlo Caffara of Bologna:

The final battle between the Lord and the reign of Satan will be about marriage and the family. Don’t be afraid, because anyone who operates for the sanctity of marriage and the family will always be contended and opposed in every way, because this is the decisive issue. However, Our Lady has already crushed its (Satan's) head.

The storm is intensifying. Whether and to what extent anything will be left of this bucolic farming community in the wake of the flood remains to be seen

LSP

Texas Ghost House

There used to be more farms here, but many of these became uncompetitive and were bought out by larger operations. Sometimes the houses remain, derelict, being slowly reclaimed by nature; I looked at one today.

It wasn't large, a simple one story house, though it had two substantial stone chimneys, topped off with brick. I peered through the dirty windows, mindful of snakes, and saw that the furniture was still in place and the kitchen shelves still stocked. It was like a decaying time capsule that someone had left, expecting to return.

And not that long ago. The rusting Impala in front of the house was last registered in 2005, though an old plow had fallen into disuse long before that. It was becoming part of tree, which had grown up around it. 

There was a well, too, and you could see water flowing at its bottom. If the grid goes down I'll know where to go, if the ghosts don't mind company.

I left that place thinking about Detroit; chances are, the chimneys would have been in use.

There's a moral to this, if you care to draw it.

LSP