I love it when a science fiction novel takes me in deep enough that I long to learn about the aliens the protagonists venture to visit. in other news, the Day the Earth Stood Still played once more on the classic movie channel the other day, and I thought, not for the first time, how the star of that film bore a resemblance, in my mind, to the initial captain on Babylon 5.
Babylon 5 was for years my favorite science fiction show featuring big-haired aliens. I miss its easy, mystical sway. Lately I notice that science fiction novels, rather like Xmas wishes, all become more or less true with time.
I read tonight about Dorethea Dix, and in particular her stark "Memorial" to the Massachusetts legislature, calling for prison reform and reform of care for the mentally ill. I admired her gusto, though it did not escape my purview that once she achieved a measure of success, she got appointed to a government job that proved the opposite of her forte. There's an answer to some hovering question in all that, although I am guess-hazardless about it all.
Autumn chill outside. Mountains await on Saturday. The world is not my oyster, but I had flounder for dinner. I see the Autumn like a giant, smiling flower of welcome, reconstructive change.