I don't like the smell of rapeseed though. It's oily and oppressive, exactly like something named rapeseed OUGHT to smell like.
Prepare to Be Awed: Sensitive Light
Things I Have To Do in the Very Near Future:
- finish the AWC website (before Tuesday)
- AWC printed newsletter
- Martin's Swedish passport renewal application dropped off
- Marda's business cards/flyers
- buy soccer shoes, socks and shin guards for Karin (before Monday)
- beg people for poetry submissions for Mosaic Minds
- design an invitation to choir party (before Tuesday)
- nail down details for AWC tshirts with Emily
Yesterday, in the mail, I got this Raven Pendant from esmecat. She sent it to me because I admired it. It's even more beautiful in real life than that photo makes it out to be. I'm thrilled and touched and happy.
Moods That My Mood Set Lacks: peachy, ducky, gooberish, snucky, headachey, smart-alecky
We're working on a shivery delicious song in choir called Visa Vid Midsommartid (Song for Midsummer Time). At first, I didn't like it, because it's not a very easy melody, but after working with it for a bit, I've fallen in love. It makes me think of forest trolls, and moonshine on still water and young girls putting flowers under their pillows in the hopes of dreaming of the one they'll marry. It makes me want to sing at night. Here's the first verse (and thanks to swingtime now the WHOLE first verse and not just the alto part, see verse 2 in the comments):
Du lindar av olvon en midsommarkrans och hänger den om ditt hår. Du skrattar åt mångubbens benvita glans, som högt över tallen står. I natt skall du dansa vid Svartrama tjärn i långdans, i språngdans på glödande järn. I natt är du bjuden av dimman till dans, där Ull-Stina, Kull-Lina går.*
Another song that we are singing is called Hårgalåten, and I love it even more, if that's possible. It tells the tale of a group of young people, living beneath Hårga mountain, who gather one evening to party. They should have known better since it was a high holy day. They had no one to play for them, but just then a mysterious musician appeared at the edge of the forest and immediately began playing a bewitching tune on the violin. The youngsters felt impelled to dance, without really understanding why. Then, one of the youths discovered that the violinist had goat's hooves instead of feet. By then, however, it was too late, and the musician, never ceasing to play, led them up the mountain where he played by the steep cliffsides until only a ring of grinning skulls was left. *shiver and grin*
*You wrap guelder-rose into a midsummer wreath and hang it on your hair. You laugh at the bone-white lustre of the man in the moon standing over the pines. Tonight you shall dance by the black-framed pool, a long dance, a leaping dance, on glowing heat. Tonight, you're invited by the fog to dance, there where the fog-elves walk.