Algy moved to a new position on the riverbank, so that he could watch the dazzling patterns of sunlight sparkling on the water. In the distance he could see the mountains which hid the river’s many sources, but for the moment Algy was more interested in the play of shadows and light. It reminded him of a short poem, which he offers with his fluffiest thanks to all those kind followers and curatorial editors who reblog episodes from Algy’s Adventures. Your efforts too often go unacknowledged, but Algy deeply appreciates the way in which you help him reach a wider audience. Thank you all!
If I could
in my hand
and watch it
[Algy is quoting the poem Present Light by the contemporary American writer Charles Ghigna, who Algy understands has the good sense to live up a tree :-)]
p.s. Can’t see Algy? Look again :-)
smallsoapdish replied to your photo “New books! Some of these have been on my wishlist for aeons.”
The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms and To Say Nothing of the Dog were both very good. Must look into the ones I’ve never heard of.
If you want a heads-up about what a couple of them are about, they ended up on my wishlist after being featured in John Scalzi’s Big Idea posts:
(yikes, that post is 2 years old. Oops.)
(over a year old now, sigh)
(I love road narratives. Plus the cover is gorgeous)
Ernest Hemingway would have died rather than have syntax. Or semicolons. I use a whole lot of half-assed semicolons; there was one of them just now; that was a semicolon after “semicolons,” and another one after “now.”
And another thing. Ernest Hemingway would have died rather than get old. And he did. He shot himself. A short sentence. Anything rather than a long sentence, a life sentence. Death sentences are short and very, very manly. Life sentences aren’t. They go on and on, all full of syntax and qualifying clauses and confusing references and getting old. And that brings up the real proof of what a mess I have made of being a man.