I was doing something not terribly important when I heard the buzz of an insect, navigating the airspace around my head rather erratically. I thought absentmindedly of drunken airline pilots and whether flies could be retrofitted with proper ailerons when the buzzing hit the window in front of me and stopped, abruptly. Perhaps retrofit them with radar as well?

After a moment of silence, the buzzing started up again, but with a very different quality to it. It sounded nothing so much as urgent and panicky, enough so that I looked up from my reveries and sought out the source of the sound. It was coming from the bottom corner of the window.

The tiny fly, at least I suppose it was a fly — I failed to introduce myself and interrogate it on this point in its sudden predicament — was caught in a spiderweb I had long assumed to be abandoned. I’d never seen a spider anywhere near it, and it had a certain disused and disheveled quality to it, much like a neglected house in a run-down neighborhood. Now, though, it soon became abundantly clear that it was very much in use.

I don’t really mind spiders much, I think they are fascinating creatures. I will tolerate them as long as they adhere to my one absolute rule: No biting of me. That said, I do enjoy my private space and will evict them on short notice if they invade it. Such as my bed or my bathtub. After all, there are certain unspoken rules about a man’s bed and tub; ignore them at your peril, is all I say. Oh, and don’t mess with my car, ever. You guys out there know what I mean.

This spider was surprisingly large, in fact worryingly so, and compared to the doomed fly it was huge. For a moment there I considered attempting to rescue the fly, but before I could react the spider had already moved in and the poor fly was toast, or at least lunch. Fascinated, I watched the spider envelop it in silk thread with a skill that can only be described as chillingly effective. I see now where the inspiration for countless science fiction movies has come from.

Minutes later there were no traces of the fly or the spider, and the web was repaired and returned to its state of fashionable disorder. I suppose perhaps it is with spiderwebs as it is with human hairdos: the more expensive they are, the more haphazard they look. It was almost as if the whole thing had never happened, but I knew different, so I offered a few thoughts and a moment of silence over the unfortunate pilot.

You were seen, you were heard, you were contemplated upon, so you existed and you mattered, despite your lack of navigational skills. So here’s to you, may you rest in peace.

(Image credit: Oliver Wolters / Wikimedia Commons. I first posted this piece on Blogcritics.)

“Sedimentary rocks from the Mesozoic”, the US Geological Survey site said. That meant that these hills were from the time leading up to the extinction of the dinosaurs, more than 65 million years ago.

As usual, he’d gone hiking with an eye towards geology, he couldn’t help it. Landscapes tell stories, sometimes cryptic. This landscape was no exception, and he loved deciphering the clues. He looked around as he walked, breathing in deeply as if he could smell the history.

He stopped, arrested in thought and stride by an outcrop of rock. It was banded and tilted at an improbable angle towards the sky. The bands were rusty red and black, with thinner, light gray bands in between. He climbed up to the rock face and studied it. It spoke to him.

The listing bands in the rock were layers of silt and rotting plants and animals, deposited on an old ocean floor and turned into stone over the aeons. He felt as if it were a graveyard that had been desecrated, upturned and thrust into the daylight by immense geological forces in the deep, left in an undignified and naked state, exposed.

He made a promise to the ancient seabed, as he sensed it yearning for an ocean long gone, teeming with prehistoric life. He’d bring it, or at least a small piece of it, to the nearby Pacific, where it could rest at the bottom of the sea once more.

He’d neglected to bring a hammer, but the rock was so loose and fragile, his hands would do. He rapped his knuckles on one of the black bands and marveled at how hollow and crisp it sounded, as if it were still made of coal. He wriggled and clawed and finally tore a small, flat piece of black rock from the face of the cliff with his bare fingers.

He sniffed it, it looked so organic. It smelled of dust. It was fossilized carbon, life itself turned into stone, between layers of crumbling gray clay. It lay in his pocket now, solid and primeval, sacred. As he walked on towards the beach, something had shifted inside him, he felt different. He had a duty to perform.

There was a large sign by the trail where the valley ended and the beach began. It warned of rip currents and hazardous cliffs, of treacherous surf. He removed his shoes and dug his toes into the sand. Time flowed, like water, as he felt the power of the ocean, where life once began, wash over his feet.

As pelicans floated above the horizon, he observed the green steel of the waves hammering away at the black volcanic rocks of the cliffs, two enemies from time immemorial battling it out over scraps of existence itself: Here endeth America!

Remembering his promise, he reached into his pocket and found the rock he had plucked from the bottom of a forgotten sea an hour earlier. The thought humbled him, that he’d literally reached out and touched the time of the dinosaurs.

He flung his arm back and threw the rock as far out as he could, into the buzzing waves, paying his respects to the merciless ocean, then and now. The age-old sediment returned to its home, 65 million years after it left.

He smiled as he felt time melt.

(Image credit: Gunnar Helliesen)

This post is for India Drummond’s Writing Adventure Group, #19: “Pick a pocket”. The WAG is open and all are welcome to join! There’s also a WAG Facebook Group you can join.

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]]> http://luni.net/?feed=rss2&p=869 7 http://luni.net/?p=834 http://luni.net/?p=834#comments Fri, 09 Apr 2010 04:51:52 +0000 Gunnar Helliesen http://luni.net/?p=834 Every once in a while, advertisers, even creators of TV commercials, produce something that transcends the genre and becomes art.

Meet The Most Interesting Man in the World. Suave, sophisticated, and entirely fictional; a man’s man, an amalgamation of Hemingway, 007 and Salvador Dali, with a touch of Chuck Norris.

A series of TV commercials promoting a certain brand of beer use as their spokesperson a man who is much too sophisticated to be a beer drinker. Well, most of the time. As he informs us, “I don’t always drink beer, but when I do, I prefer Dos Equis”.

He dishes out advice on everything from self-defense (“the right look should suffice”) to rollerblading (“no”), in a nightclub-like setting, always surrounded by beautiful women. The campaign was designed by marketing firm Euro RSCG, who created a whole mythology surrounding The Interesting One.

We’re told that he’s the only man to ever ace a Rorschach test, that his blood smells like cologne and that his personality is so magnetic, he’s unable to carry credit cards. We see him traveling the world, conversing with royalty, and escaping from danger, always with a beautiful woman or two by his side.

The genius of the campaign lies in the subtle blend of unapologetic 1960’s ideas of manliness with absurd humor. In one scene The Most Interesting Man in the World is seen, impeccably dressed, freeing a grizzly bear from a trap with his bare hands. In another, we see him climbing out of a space capsule after splashdown, and in yet another with a host of beauty pageant contestants in a small boat.

There is no context, no explanation, just scenes from a life well lived, including flashbacks to his youth, grainy and yellowish. The mythology that is created is extensive, there’s even a meta-mythology: “The things you have heard about me, are all true.” Fake Spanish accent and all.

The art in this case comes from the elaborate universe that is conjured into being, based on our common cultural memes of Zorro, James Bond, The Saint, Indiana Jones, and all the other over-the-top and sophisticated male heroes from books and movies, men of action and joie de vivre. Men we aspire to be.

Beer commercials are usually targeted at young men, and this is another side to the genius of this particular campaign. Not only does it appeal to young women as well as men, but even for the intended audience of young males these ads stand out from the rest. The Most Interesting Man in the World is superbly confident, obviously successful and a clearly a role model. He’s not trying to impress anyone, he doesn’t need to. Nor is he drinking for courage: as one ad put it, “he once had an awkward moment, just to see how it feels.”

Inventing a fictional celebrity allows you to get away with paying the portraying actor a lot less than you would a real celebrity, and you’re not exposed to waning popularity or scandals. You control not just the current narrative, but everything leading up to it, as well as of course the future. You also get to neatly sidestep the issue of how to get a man who’s obviously too sophisticated to shill for a mass market product like beer, to do just that. After all, everything about this man tells us he drinks booze, and the good stuff at that.

According to People Magazine, the interesting man behind The Most Interesting Man in the World is actor Jonathan Goldsmith. He’s a bit of a real life Renaissance man, a self-made millionaire businessman and longtime TV actor who lives on a boat in Los Angeles.

He shares our hero’s sophistication and dashing good looks, but is somewhat more humble and soft-spoken. When asked about being The Most Interesting Man in the World, he quickly corrects the interviewer. “I’m the actor who is lucky enough to play him.”

After seeing all the TV commercials and reading about our Man, I’m left with a pressing question: Is the beer any good? I’ve never tried it myself, but from what I’ve read elsewhere, let’s just say the reviewers weren’t overly impressed. A pity.

Stay thirsty my friends.

UPDATE: This article was originally posted on Blogcritics, and via them got picked up by the Seattle Post-Intelligencer. Needless to say, I’m thrilled.

Since publication of this article I’ve had a chance to taste Dos Equis Amber, a beer not that different from Newcastle Brown Ale. I quite liked it.

(Image credit: Cervezas Mexicanas)

I saw a movie last night (Clash of the Titans in 3D, not worth your $14) and as is common these days, the theater happened to be located in a mall.

As this was a Sunday night most shops were closed, including the Apple Store. I had hoped it might be open, despite the lateness of the hour and it being Easter Sunday, because after all, it was the day after The Launch. Yes, verily, The iPad Launch. But alas.

I got to admire the iPad from afar though, because the lights were on in the store, and it was far from empty. There were two security guards in there, big guys with reading materials, uniforms and bored looks.

Two things immediately struck me as odd about this. One, the guards weren’t playing with the iPads or any of the other shiny objects available, they were reading newspapers and magazines. That’s right, paper.

Imagine yourself locked in an Apple store, the day after the iPad launches, with literally a dozen iPads laid out in front of you, all Internet connected and full of promise. You could read the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times in all their backlit LED glory, or download iBooks for free. All whilst inhaling the wonderful smell of newness and basking in the envious stares of passersby.

But no, you consume your news the way it was meant to be consumed, through your fingertips, as the newspaper ink smudges your skin and leaves your fingerprints all over the sports section.

Doesn’t this scene, in a faceless and nameless mall somewhere in America on April 4, 2010, say it all about the hype surrounding the iPad and indeed, even the future of the publishing industry? Take heart, printers, have faith, ink merchants, you will live to see another day. Or maybe the security guards were just luddites.

The other thing that struck me as odd was that there were guards present in a closed and locked Apple Store, in a sleepy mall, on a late Sunday night. And, that they had the store lit up like a billboard sign before Christmas, which is in fact exactly where this suddenly starts to make sense.

Apple feels we need reminding that their products are in fact so desirable that leaving them unattended, even if behind bars and fancy alarms, no doubt with powerful lasers and pressure sensitive floors, would be downright irresponsible.

It could mean that some dastardly thief would get his hands on an iPad before the honest men and women who frequent this mall, who are no less than the lifeblood of this fine institution, would get a chance to even just hold one or try launching an app.

The lure of the iPad is too strong, the pull of Steve Jobs’ patented Reality Distortion Field has been extended to cover the official Apple Stores.

That was the message Apple was blaring out through their two silent mouthpieces-cum-security guards last night, and I heard them. It was brilliant marketing, you could even argue it was hacking at its finest, employing social engineering in order to subvert and propagandize.

Just in case you think Apple is being overly paranoid, you should know that Mission Impossible style theft of their gear has happened before.

(Image credit: Matt Buchanan/Gizmodo, via Wikimedia Commons)

I’m sitting at Frankfurt International Airport in Germany, waiting for my flight to San Francisco. I’ve secured an excellent spot for myself, a window seat in the terminal overlooking the apron. This section of the airport is where the big birds live; the density of 747s is mind-blowing.

I’m looking at a Lufthansa machine right now, a B747-400 christened “München” according to lettering on its nose. As I admire its lines, another one takes off just behind it and climbs elegantly into the cold, gray clouds hanging low over the airport, pregnant with snow.

Just to the left of it sits the United 747 I’m flying out on in a couple of hours. The two giants perch, motionless, side by side, like birds on a wire.

That is, until the Lufthansa machine suddenly shudders, and starts moving backwards, slowly. The push back tractor swings it around 90 degrees and stops, leaving it broadside to my window. It’s a humpback, so it should look awkward, compromised. Instead the lines sweep from nose to tail, every detail underlining the facts of its existence yet melding into an elegant whole. This is a huge machine, designed to cut cleanly and efficiently through the air. Did the designers intend for it to look beautiful too, or was that a lucky coincidence?

Those of us who remember the earlier versions, with the shorter humps, may feel the current incarnation of this decades old design looks a little short. If the old girl has a flaw, this is it. It looks a little skinny and short in the tail, but then again, this just brings out the resemblance to birds even more.

A small puff of blue smoke appears under the wing, and then another. This bird is coming to life, it’s moving around restlessly on the wire and readying its wings to fly. I can hear the giant General Electric turbines spooling up, giving the beautiful aircraft purpose and intent.

For they are beautiful, the majestic 747s. The Airbus A380 may be larger, and the Airbus A340 may be sleeker, but no airliner beats the 747 for presence, personality, and sheer beauty of line. Compared, the A380 looks like a giant vulture, with heavy wings half unfurled, hovering over its prey, waiting for it to die.

The A340 is a much more pleasing design; it looks like a nervous falcon, a thoroughbred racer anxious to rise into its element and set new speed records. In fact, it looks like it could be made supersonic with just a few tweaks here and there, unleashing its potential.

Just as the Lufthansa machine is ready to start taxiing, an Airbus A319 sticks its impertinent-looking nose around the corner and crosses in front of “München”. The A319 looks nervous, as well it should. Four hundred tons of American made, built-like-a-tank engineering sits there, under power, staring it down as it makes haste to get clear.

Finally, the coast is clear of lesser plumage and the giant starts moving forward under its own power. The sight reminds me that paleontologists have discovered in recent years that birds are the direct descendants of dinosaurs. This makes perfect sense to me as I watch this bird move, forcing the ground to quiver under its massive wheels.

As it hits a minor bump in the tarmac, the wing facing me sways and dips, in slow motion, massively, inexorably. It starts to pass out of view behind a building, but just as it does, it turns, the massive tail sweeping imperviously in a large arc around the corner. The last I see of it is the giant tail fin with the Lufthansa logo disappearing out of view.

It reminds me of nothing as much as one of the many dinosaur-themed disaster movies, like a huge T. Rex or Godzilla walking between buildings, snapping its tail around corners.

These are dinosaurs indeed, large, massive, clumsy at rest but built for speed and awe-inspiring when in motion. And they are out of time, the planet which they roam can no longer sustain them. The 747s, the A380s, even the modest workhorse the Boeing 737, they’re all survivors from a different time, a time when CO2 was just the stuff that made our sodas pop and oil was limitless.

I think of this as I board my flight, wondering how many more years until the cost of running them becomes too high. Already over half the price of my ticket is taxes, soon it will become even more as each of us will undoubtedly be forced to pay directly for the pollution we cause. At some point then, the price of boarding one of these magnificent machines will become too high and we’ll simply stop.

I’m seated aft of the wing, so when the throttles open wide the roar of the engines envelopes me and causes my world to shake, rattle, and roll. The airplane accelerates impossibly hard and we go screaming down the runway like a demented pterodactyl intent on rising aloft with its flock.

Soon we’re moving so fast that I can feel the huge airplane start to sway and buffet with the airflow, even as the wheels are still connected to the ground. I look out the window and see the wing starting to lift itself, straining towards the sky as we transition from clumsily moving in two dimensions to gracefully soaring in three.

I settle in for the flight, knowing that I’ve just been part of one of the most inspiring experiences in aviation, a sight that has been with us for decades and will be with us for a while still, but whose days are numbered. No other bird can soar like the venerable Boeing 747.

(Photo credit: FGodard/Wikimedia Commons)

When Apple launched the App Store, they changed the face of computing forever. I wonder if Steve Jobs himself saw the full reach of his latest innovation back then.

When Apple launched the iPad, I was following the event live on the web along with countless others. My expectations were low and, as far as the hardware goes, it doesn’t seem even those were met. We’ll have to see when the device actually hits the stores, but no camera seems an incomprehensible omission, even for Apple.

However, when Steve Jobs started talking about iWorks (Apple’s office suite) and connecting the iPad to an external screen or projector, my take on the device changed completely. This isn’t the mostly useless toy I expected, this is finally Apple’s old credo “Computing for the rest of us” realized.

I can picture myself using a (second or third generation, with camera and more versatile text input) iPad for serious writing, for giving presentations, and for everyday correspondence. I can even picture laptops from Apple with the iPhone/iTouch/iPad OS on them one day, sold alongside Apple’s regular MacBooks with Mac OS X.

If you’re not interested in maintaining a computer, but simply using it for getting fairly basic everyday tasks done, the iPad platform with the App Store is an unbeatable proposition. You use touch and your voice to control the computer, and if it can’t do what you need it to do right now, you simply spend a couple of dollars on an App that can.

Surfing the web, email, Facebook, listening to music, watching videos, instant messaging, Skype, organizing and sharing pictures, writing letters, and keeping track of finances are probably what most people use their computers for today. The iPad can already do all this upon launch, with none of the hassle and a very little of the steep learning curve of other systems.

The true genius of the platform is the fact that it was designed to be online at all times, allowing the iPhone and iPad to be purebred input/output devices. Combined with the low cost, staggering selection and constant availability of the App Store, the iPad is like a power tool with an endless supply of drill bits and extenders.

Because the iPhone and iPad Touch had such small screens, the first generation hardware for this new platform imposed a certain simplicity and elegance of design on user interface architects. If developers for the iPad aren’t seduced by the increase in screen size to clutter their interfaces, the iPad will be the most usable and versatile computer ever made.

This clearly isn’t for everyone, but I’m reminded of the early days of the Macintosh, when people were dismissing it as a toy and claiming nothing worthwhile could be done on it. Today we know better, even though it still isn’t for everyone. The iPad and it’s successors will find many uses we can’t even imagine today, and will emerge as a third general computing platform, alongside Windows and Mac OS X.

The most likely hinderance to this development is actually Apple themselves if they don’t allow developers to take the iPad everywhere it can go. Apple should be expected to protect its lucrative MacBook business and will most likely maintain a clear distinction between handheld and laptop devices, even if customers want the lines to blur. Let’s hope Apple allows the iPad to roam free.

(Photo Credit: Matt Buchanan / Wikimedia Commons)

The blue van with the official markings of the city pulled up and parked. Two people climbed out, clad in the blue uniform of the municipal parking enforcement agency. They walked over to the nearest parking meter and attached a strange looking canister to it. One person was working, the other seemed to be observing…

And thus begins my entry for Nixy Valentine’s Writing Adventure Groupлегла challenge #10, “The Professional”. This time we were asked to observe and describe someone we see around us, someone performing an everyday job we know little about. As usual, my imagination got the better of me.

Please note that this is pure fiction, even though it was inspired by actual observations.For details about the WAG, as well as links to the other participants this week (as they become available), see below.

Metered professionals

The blue van with the official markings of the city pulled up and parked. Two people climbed out, clad in the blue uniform of the municipal parking enforcement agency. They walked over to the nearest parking meter and attached a strange looking canister to it. One person was working, the other seemed to be observing.

My eyes were on them, I couldn’t help it and I’m sure they felt it. There was a scandal a few years back, where employees of the agency embezzled money from parking meters, a lot of money. For some reason that scandal had the normally docile inhabitants of this little city up in arms. Perhaps it was because we hate parking meters so much.

The strange looking canister is supposed to prevent theft and I suppose always working in pairs is another countermeasure. They moved along the row of meters, emptying each. They didn’t talk, nor did they look at their surroundings.

I felt sorry for them. Imagine working in such an environment of distrust, of feeling like you’re being treated as a crook, even though you’ve done nothing wrong. Or maybe that was just me projecting, perhaps they didn’t talk simply because they had nothing to say? In fact, perhaps people like me, who can’t forget the scandal, are the only problem they face in their job, the only thing making it unpleasant?

The two men had reached the end of the row of meters. One of them detached the canister from the final meter and they started walking back towards their van. The street was quiet, except for a few pedestrians like myself and a lot of birds. The sun was just rising above one of the mountains surrounding the city.

By pure chance I passed the van just as they were loading the canisters through the open rear doors. I couldn’t help but notice an odd looking contraption in there, nor could I possibly miss the look the two uniformed officials sent each other as they realized I was right behind them.

They hurriedly closed the doors of the van, but it was too late, I knew what I’d seen. One of the canisters was connected to the contraption and there were some loose coins on the floor of the van. The men stood there, squarely and silently, staring at me.

I knew I should have crossed the street.

In the challenge, Nixy asked those of us who completed both #8, “Rose Colored Glasses”, and this one, to comment on which was the most difficult. Interesting question!

To me, logically, this one should have been easier. To take something nice and make it scary or repulsive ought to be fun, but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t come up with anything.

So I feel that this week’s entry from me is a bit of a cheat. But I hope you enjoy it regardless. I’ve called it “Earthrise”.

For details about the WAG, as well as links to the other participants this week (as they become available), see below.

Earthrise

The Earth: Home. Blue planet hanging in space, covered in perfect white blankets of cloud, home to every human who ever lived, every person you know and love, every work of art ever conceived.

Imagine seeing it through the viewport of a spacecraft, like the astronauts of Apollo 8 did, the first humans ever to see an Earthrise above the horizon of the Moon.

Imagine it growing larger in the window, as Jim Lovell, played by Tom Hanks, put it in the movie Apollo 13. What was a blue marble you could cover with your thumb is now almost completely dominating your field of view, an achingly beautiful panorama of deep blue oceans, lush green land, ice and desert, mountains and canyons.

Now imagine that it’s going to kill you in the next 20 minutes and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Your spacecraft is damaged, or you’re coming in to steep, it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that you’re going to burn up in the atmosphere, you’re caught inside the gravitational well created by Earth’s huge mass and it is relentless.

Even Houston has finally fallen silent, they know only too well that you have a problem and they also know there’s nothing anyone can do. You’ve said your hurried goodbyes and you’ve gone through the checklists, even though there isn’t much point.

So you look out at the largest object your existence has encountered, much too large for your mind to comprehend, even though you’re one of the select few who’ve seen it from a distance. When you look towards the horizon you can see the thin band of the Earth’s atmosphere, impossibly tiny compared to the size of the planet. Everything, all life, exists inside that thin layer of air.

You feel sadness, loss, incomprehension. Your mind wanders to the first day of spring, the sound of laughter, the feeling of waves lapping at your feet. Your heart bursts with love, more intense and more laden with sorrow than anything you’ve ever felt. You stare at the blue oasis in the empty blackness and feel lonely beyond what anyone can bear.

Suddenly you’re pulled back in your seat, as you hit the top of the atmosphere and it starts to slow you down. You know this is it, once you fall a little deeper the friction of the storm of rushing air will unleash a fury that your ship cannot withstand. You bargain, you plead, you howl in rage as the Gs build up, rapidly now.

The windows are covered in flickering gold, the soothing blue of home replaced by an eerie glow of angry ions building up towards a crescendo. Everything falls quiet inside you and you start to black out as the Gs mount beyond what your body can stand. You never feel the sudden stab of searing hot gas that penetrates you, moments before everything breaks apart.

Minutes later the firestorm has abated and a few remaining parts of your spacecraft are tumbling through the air, towards the sea below. There are no traces of you, ashes to ashes, stardust to stardust.

Welcome home.

————————–

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Next week’s Writing Adventure:

“WAG #10: The Professional” As we go through our days, we’re surrounded by people doing everyday jobs: the guy that reads the gas meter, cashiers, bank tellers, security guards, doctors, circus clowns… This week, your assignment is to observe someone doing a job (their profession should be one you don’t know that much about). Describe him/her and also what they’re doing, why they’re doing it (as best you can tell), and how. Feel free to use your imagination, but don’t forget the concrete observation! Special thanks to Lulu for this week’s topic idea!

Post the results on your blog, and read this post about the group for information on how to notify Nixy so your post will be properly included in next week’s list.  (Note, please include WAG #10 in the subject heading and tell her how you want your name to appear please!) Deadline: next Tuesday, May 5th.

A turd, a poop, a big no. 2, solid bodily waste, droppings, feces, manure. Presumably of canine origin. And just where I wanted to lie down in the grass to catch some rays.

As Mary Douglas once famously stated, “Waste is matter out of place.”

That’s what the droppings in the picture represented to me. An annoyance, a disgusting intrusion into my sunny Saturday.

But what about to everyone else involved?

This is for Nixy Valentine’s Writing Adventure Group #8. The task was to go out and find something repulsive or annoying and paint it in Rose Colored Glasses, really sell it.

Waste is life

Dog went from frustrated to happy in one tenth of a second, flat. Master was opening a can of food and Dog was beside himself, salivating with anticipation. His tail was wagging furiously and his attention wandered back and forth between the affection and loyalty he felt for Master, and the wanton desire he felt for the food.

Two hours later Dog was completely happy once more, this time because Master was taking him for their walk. His attention was focused on all the exciting smells along their usual route, his muzzle in constant motion, sweeping the olfactory landscape.

When they got to the park, he had to go. He sniffed the bushes and the grass and turned in little circles, going round himself. Master stood next to him, keeping watch, but Dog could sense his impatience. He didn’t understand it but there was nothing he could do about it, because he had to go. Now.

He squatted with his hind legs and his body became rigid as he felt the bowel movement commencing. Dog didn’t assign any value to it, negative or positive, it was just something that needed to happen right then and there. But when it was over, he felt immense satisfaction, so much so that he temporarily forgot Master’s impatience.

He was about to circle his accomplishment when Master yanked his leash and started walking again. Dog felt a slight disappointment, he’d wanted to inspect his business, to sniff it before Master bent down and picked it up. Surely he was going to pick it up, like he always did?

Dog soon forgot his disappointment and confusion, instead he beamed contentment to the world. His belly was full, his bowels empty and the night was beautiful. Cold, but so very clear, covered in stars. He looked up at them, the business in the park already forgotten.

It was the middle of the day, and Fly was following a trail of scent, shared with him by two other flies. They were closing in on their target, Fly could see it now, a huge dropping. This would be a feast for them all.

He alighted on it and immediately set to work. He spat digestive juices onto the parts that were rich in food, ceaselessly wandering back and forth between the good spots, and looking for new ones.

Fly soon had to jockey for space, other flies were arriving every minute, each one searching for the most nutritious bits, all of them frenzied by the lovely odors emanating from their windfall. It was a free-for-all, getting more aggressive by the hour.

The next day the scene repeated itself, and the next, until a week had passed and several rains had fallen. There were almost no more scents now and most of the once magnificent and seemingly endless meal had been washed into the ground. Fly was long gone, hunting elsewhere for other prizes.

The tiny shrub broke through the surface of the Earth and into the sunlight. Its roots were already deep in the soil, which was rich in nutrients. It sensed Light coming from one particular direction of the sky and started aligning its single twig above ground to it.

Four days later the twig had branches and little shoots of green. Tree was growing exceptionally fast, it had almost limitless resources available to it, more than enough water and nutrients. It fed off of the nitrogen compounds that were so abundant in this spot.

Tree had competition, but fought it ferociously. It spread more branches, with more shoots, as wide and as fast as it could. It was still the tallest growth in this spot, it literally had the upper hand: It could block the sunlight from all of its shorter competitors.

Two weeks on the little patch of grass was unrecognizable. Tree had grown to dominate it completely, with deep roots spreading far and wide. It still got most of its nutrients close to home though, but the roots also gave it access to large amounts of water. The competition was decimated, Tree controlled the Light.

One year later Tree bore flowers. Insects landed on them, seeking the rich nectar. One night a man and a dog came by, pausing as the dog peed on Tree. It sensed the drops soaking into the ground, a rich infusion of nutrients.

Tree longed for daybreak and Light, when it would put those nutrients to good use, in the endless and merciless battle against its enemies, parasites all.

It could feel the weeds pushing against the earth around its trunk, it could sense the fungi trying to smother its roots and it knew that there would come a day when an enemy would outgrow it and block its light.

Dog was happy, his bladder empty. Tree didn’t feel anything, but it radiated unyielding menace to those able to sense it.

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The other participants in this week’s WAG:

How to Join the Writing Adventure Group

Cora Zane

Nancy Parra

Peter Spalton

Christine Kirchoff

Pallavi Agarwal (On Facebook)

DMW Carol

Marsha

Iain Martin

Lulu

Melanie Trevelyan

Sharon Donovan

Next week’s Writing Adventure:

“WAG #9: Warning!” Last week the topic was to make something ugly sound beautiful, so this time let’s do the opposite! Choose an unfamiliar object (in other words, one you have no history with) that strikes you as beautiful, appealing, or somehow desirable etc… some ideas might be: a child, a sunset, an attractive shop window, a scenic view, a piece of art, an appetising meal in a restaurant… and write about it in such as way as to make it unappealing or even disgusting, frightening or repulsive to your reader. If you did last week’s topic as well (Rose Colored Glasses) I’d be very interested to know which of these was harder for you!

I have made this letter longer than usual, only because I have not had the time to make it shorter.
– Blaise Pascal

I’m calling it the Blogger’s Curse: An endless supply of electrons, a limited amount of time and no editor.

Almost no matter what you have to say, and how you say it, there is a shorter way. The trick is to find it and use it, without losing any of the semantic payload. If you’re good, you’ll make your message more elegant in the process, and increase its punch.

Now to live by it.

And that’s it, end of post. QED.