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The Well

I went to the well for water. I dropped the bucket into the well and watched it splash into the water below. The water flew up towards my face. I leaned forward too far to try and drink it, and fell in.

While down there, I cupped water to my mouth and took a few gulps. Then I climbed the bucket’s rope till I got to the top, and got out. I was drenched.

I smiled at my dog Rexy, who had accompanied me to the well. She said, “You seem to have no qualms about looking like an idiot.” I agreed. I said that it keeps me sprightly.

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Disasters explained?

Brooks: God, how come there are natural disasters, like fires and floods?
God: I don’t know.
Brooks: Wait, what?! But you’re, God. You’re supposed to know everything.
God: “Supposed” is the operative word.
Brooks: Well, if you don’t know, who does?
God: I don’t know. But if you meet them, let me know. I have a lot of questions of my own.

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A picture from the last time we got together.

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Hands!

Hands! They’re amazing. And they’re attached to us. How’d we get so lucky?

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Some time with Gluck

Things were slow, so I took my time machine back to 1746, Prague, and the office of composer Christoph Willibald Gluck. Gluck was sitting at his desk, pen in hand, writing musical notes on paper. I asked what he was working on. I startled him, and he knocked over his inkwell, staining the paper black.

He let out the longest sigh. I noticed because everything else was so quiet due to the complete absence of electronic devices.

Gluck looked up at me and said that he “had” been composing a trio sonata for the nameday celebrations of King Charles VII of Naples. I said I was sorry and asked if I could make up for my intrusion by writing the song myself. Gluck agreed.

I wrote, “King Charles, there’s something about you./ K.C., you are spectacular in your kingy ways/your crown is one of the shiniest/may you always be king, until you decide to do something else.”

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Another wonderful day without a clue.

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