From Diane Setterfield's The Thirteenth Tale

People disappear when they die. Their voices, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living mempry of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continut to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humour, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.

--Diane Setterfield



Thursday, July 16, 2009

The Fish Ladder






We went to the Locks yesterday. There is a beautiful botanical garden, a private residence for ... someone important... something like the head of the army corp of engineers... and the locks between Lake Washington and the Puget Sound. The guy who built the locks also built a fish ladder for the salmon who come this way each year.
I heard at a Relief Society activity that this is the time of year to see them jumping up stream.
We had a wonderful time. It was a bright sunshiny day. We all got a little sun burn. Their were not so many fish as I had imagined there would be. But we got some cool pictures.
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1 comment:

Claire :) said...

that looks so fun! :)

July 27, 2009 at 3:11 PM

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