Water and Music



It is five in the morning. I stand on a beach and gather light in my yes and my mind. It is not a normal beach but rather one with a bed of small round stones. They have no color yet, but promise to gather some as the sun rises.

There is a hint of pink on the horizon but no real light. The stars remain visible above the sea. Among them is the phenomenon of the Milky Way. It rises from the sea; upward and to the right, continuing towards the heavens until it disappears. There is not a clear demarcation of its trajectory. The lower parts of the Milky Way appear as stars – – although a bit muted. As my eyes follow its path the stars join together and lose their granularity; they become a giant cloud. This cloud has upper and lower limits which define it

There is a cliff to my left. It also, like the beach stones, has little color. A minute passes and some light tends to make the cliff a brownish hue. Yes, I can now clearly see its outline. It is not a normal flat cliff but rather one whose geological lineage have given it character. There are fault lines rising from left to right; almost following the path of the Milky Way. The fault lines are irregular, no two separated by the same distance although following the same path. There are a few outcroppings that cantilever out into the night sky.

Out, sitting in the ocean, with its toes on the beach and its heals buried in the water, is a tall rock island. Its birth mother appears to be the cliff. They have the same fault lines and color. Mother and child are separated by eroded rocks that appear to remain behind as the result of the natal event.

There are beach stones that lay beneath my feet, and extend to the area between the cliff and the island. These stones seem to also have been left behind as a result of the birth of the island. However, these have been smoothed by Father Ocean who has given them a personality due to a continuum of waves of advice.

In the distance and to my right a small island appears in the muted sun. The pink on the horizon has turned to white and a thin layer of blue exists between this and the dark sky. The stars within this blue band have disappeared; yet my heart can still feel the Milky Way and my mind contemplates it.

The sea becomes silver as the sun rises farther. The islands and cliff in front of me remain dark and foreboding. I wait for the remainder of the musical and am not disappointed. The small rounded stones appear to gain in color and harmony. I wonder and this wonderment leads me to the memory of a visit I once paid to a mountain stream.

I had a lot of leisure time then. My weekly income from industry gave me time to do the things I always wanted to. One of my desires was to own my own automobile so that I could visit the countryside.

And I did.

I drove for miles and enjoyed every month of it. Some of the roads were unique. One was along an old canal bed. Another went up and down like a roller-coaster (but, of course, not as steep). My favorite mountain road was helical shaped that went around and around as well as up. I enjoyed the feeling of “Déjà Vu” each time I made a left hand turn (which was continuously).

But none of my trips would be as memorable as the one I was on at that moment. It was a two lane macadam road that followed a beautiful mountain stream. I saw an interesting dirt road to my right. A rickety bridge allowed me to cross the stream. The steep mountains closed in on each side as I followed my hood ornament.

Suddenly the mountains parted and I found myself at the edge of a large flat area. It must have been five hundred acres in size and as flat as a postage stamp. The whole plain was covered in grass. It was not normal grass; it was blue. Not the blue of oceans, nor turquoise blue, or the blue color of melancholy. It was not the blue of azure, nor sapphire, nor peacock blue nor the blue of despair. It was the blue of amethyst.

It had the same quality of an amethyst gem; translucent. I departed my car and studied the grass. When I stood up it looked like a dark hue of blue. When I lay down and looked across the top of the grass it looked like the amethyst of an apothecary jar. In either case it was a mesmerizing experience.

I removed my shoes and socks to enjoy the softness of this blue grass. I walked around the amethyst plain for quite some time before I noticed a stream along one side. I ventured down the bank and into the water. The stones on the bottom were all the same size; about the size of an egg. Yet they were rather flat and pleasant to walk on. The stones appeared to have spent quite a bit of time in a giant lapidary tumbler; they were polished.

I reached down and picked one up. It was onyx black with ivory colored large spots here and there. The spots were not clearly demarcated as on a polka-dot dress. They were more like the penumbraic spots on a brook trout.

“PUT ME DOWN” cried a voice from seemingly nowhere.
I looked around but there was no one there.
“Put me down before I die” cried out the voice again.
I scanned the blue grass but saw no one.
“Please, I beg you, put me back in the water or I will expire” came the voice for the third time.

I perceived that the voice might be coming from the stone. I carefully lowered my hand until the stone was under water. Nothing happened. No voice, no movement, no sign of life. After a minute or so I decided that I must have had a day dream in this strange place of amethyst grass and shiny stones with soft ivory spots. I lifted my hand out of the water so that I could once more inspect this strange stone.

“Thanks for putting me back under water” said the stone.
Without thinking I responded “Why sure! Sorry about not listening the first time.”
“Put me back in so I can take a breath” pleaded the stone.
I did as I was asked and then lifted the stone up again. “Are you a real stone or a turtle or a fish?” I asked.
“A stone” said the stone. “Now put me back.”

And so it went for the remainder of the next hour. I dipped the stone in and out of the water while trying to complete a conversation with it.

Finally the stone told me “Walk downstream and you will find a waterfall.”
I followed the stone’s instructions while holding him under water. When I reached the waterfall I lifted the stone up again to ask for farther instructions. The stone said “Hold me under the waterfall. That way I can get enough water to breath and enough air to talk.”
I followed instructions and soon realized why I had heard gurgling sounds at all the waterfalls I had ever visited. It was the sound of stones talking to each other. I wished that I had paid more attention to stones long before this.

“I can now complete what I wished I could have told someone years ago” said the stone. “It is a long story so feel free to ask questions; if you must.
The stone continued “This is the story of a blue grass festival and us who were once called caterwaulers.

“Eons ago in this flat amethyst plain,
Music existed whether in sun or rain,
It echoed on the mountains ag’ane and ag’ane,
While the red summer hawk was carnivorously preyin’.

People came from a’near and afar,
Some by bus, but mostly by car,
Two people brought elixir in a stone jar,
A wanna-be king and a Tennesee tzar.

So the blue-grass music played day and night,
While the clouds rolled by, dark or bright,
Eventually the moon played fiddle (out of sight),
And the night owl prowled in quiet stealthy flight.

The stream rolled by, oblivious of the noise,
Created by those grown-up country girls and boys,
With their banjos, harmonicas, and musical toys,
The audience had elixir and hookahs (their make believe joys).

Summer hawk and night owl with eyes e’spyin’,
Swooping talons exposed, in unison flyin’,
Picked up the singers and musicians (all cryin’),
Each and every one thought they were dyin’,

The winged ones deposited them in mountain stream,
And the caterwauling ebbed to a gurgling scream,
I was involved in that nightmarish dream,
For I was a caterwauler, or so it would seem.

Over the eons minerals invaded our bones,
And turned us into penumbrious stones,
Our caterwaulings are now gurgling moans,
The screeching songs melted into melodious tones.”

The stone then became quiet except for intermittent sobbing. Although I had previously intended to ask questions I avoided hearing any more of the sad story. I carefully placed the stone on the bottom of the stream and fled.

I never heard the voice of the caterwauler again.

©  2017        Copyright Waldo J. Tomosky

Welcome to our book, a unique collaboration between a human and advanced Artificial Intelligence (AI) technology. In this book, we delve into the life and legacy of Victor Hugues, a French revolutionary leader and one of the most intriguing figures of the 18th century. Utilizing the language generation capabilities of ChatGPT, we bring to life the story of Victor Hugues and his role in the French Revolution, the rise and fall of his political career, his impact on the Caribbean Island of Guadeloupe, and his legacy in the history of South America. As author and assistant, we have combined the power of AI to generate human-like language with our own knowledge and research to provide an in-depth exploration of Victor Hugues’ life, actions, political ideologies and the impact of his decisions. From his early years to his rise to power, this book covers it all, providing a comprehensive understanding of one of the most enigmatic figures of the French Revolution. Whether you are a history buff or just interested in seeing the results a human collaboration with AI, this book is for you.

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I think you will love it. Twelve Librarians from different countries, different walks of life, and different times.

[From the back cover]

This book tells the story of twelve librarians who live in different cultures, times and lands.

“The Librarians” depicts the important role that librarians play in their individual societies. The author shows the various ways in which these librarians assist us in understanding each other, or in other situations, misunderstand each other.

In addition to its engaging dialogues, “The Librarians” also tackles some important themes, including the value of libraries in the digital age and diverse communities. These themes are explored in an artful and intuitive way, making the book a meaningful and thought-provoking read.

Overall, we highly recommend “The Librarians” to anyone who loves good stories.

It’s an inspiring read that will leave you searching various and strange places for similar libraries.


Hi folks! I know this is not at the top of your list, however, it is in my wheelhouse, so, I thought I would run it up the flagpole to see if it waves, because nobody’s gonna’ sell me the sleeves off their vest without my looking in the gift-horse’s mouth first and with that said let me get on to the crux of the story.

I met a fellow at the Polish Club yesterday afternoon; you know, the one on Prospect Street. No, the fellow does not reside on prospect street – the Polish Club does.

Anyway he has this brilliant plan for a new business that will put the Triple Cities back on the map. I refuse to call it Greater Binghamton because, well, have you looked at Binghamton lately? It has suddenly – or possibly not so suddenly – become Lesser Binghamton. Please don’t confuse that with Lestershire, which was renamed Westover, absorbed by the Town of Union – which, by the way – is probably bigger than Greater Binghamton. Well, the Town of Union has 59 employees not counting the Muckety-Mucks. The City of Binghamton has about 750 employees and is one third the size of the Town of Union. Go figure!

But as usual, I digress. The mind goes skedaddling of to the side every once in a while.

So, this guy I met on Prospect Street. He has a great idea for teaching the kids geography. He has invented a globe that is the actual size and dimensions of the Earth. Not to worry! He lets the air out of it when it is not in use. That is his first model. He has rented a warehouse in Elmira to store the first one-hundred. (He couldn’t find a warehouse in Johnson City because they were all purchased by New York State – and friends – for the expansion of Binghamton University [which doesn’t reside in Binghamton but rather in Vestal]. These are being manufactured in an empty room in an old mall that will – or will not – be identified at a later date; although Bob Joseph probably has a lead on the story.

But to get on with this great news, each city on these blow-up globes will have the exact number of residents that reside in the actual cities on Earth. To keep the spirit of the model in sync with the actual Earth, he also has included five full-sized oceans. I thought there were only four, but he convinced me that the water around Antarctica qualified as an ocean; frozen or not. Anyway, his blow-up Earth has five oceans.

When these globes hit the marketplace they will include a warning written by lawyers (of course) that tell the parents of the children who will own them [no, the children will not own the parents, the children will own the globes] a warning to not let the kids blow these up in the house. The Himalayan Mountains will definitely ruin the plastered ceilings and possibly cause the upstairs plumbing to leak.

They are really meant as an outside toy, not your typical board games such as Parchisi. Who the heck ever named that game should be put in stockades; right next to the people who upgraded Dunk’n Donuts rewards last month (OH MY GOD! HAVE YOU TRIED USING THAT THING YET?)

Anyway, with all these models of the earth being blown up (no, not the explosion type of blown up) we shouldn’t have to worry about global warming because there will be plenty of Earth’s to move to.

Thank you for reading this. I have to leave now.

They are coming to take me away, oh-no, they’re coming to take me away.



For example; I have been trying to promote a book right here in the body of this post.

But no — all I can do is to post the link.

So now you have to click on the link below.


Then purchase it.

Read it.

And recommend it to others.

Better yet — recommend it to your book club so others will have to purchase it.

Thank you.


How lucky can a man get?

Here I sit, watching a cold western wind, clashing with an eastern heat wave. The weather people tell me to run and hide.

I choose to do no such thing.

Instead, I will torture you with another self-promotion.

They say you can lead something to somewhere to drink. I hope that is true, because all I can do is tempt you with the following information.

This link is for those who reside or purchase their books in the USA.

VERDANT PALACES: A Classical Love Story in the Adirondacks Based on William Henry Hudson’s 1904 Masterpiece: Tomosky, Waldo, Hudson, William Henry: 9798449729712: Amazon.com: Books

Now this link is a bit different. It is for those who purchase their books in Australia

VERDANT PALACES: A Classical Love Story in the Adirondacks Based on William Henry Hudson’s 1904 Masterpiece : Tomosky, Waldo, Hudson, William Henry: Amazon.com.au: Books

In either case; ENJOY!


This book is straight forward. It tells about life and death; pleasant and unpleasant.

There are bare-faced truths and hidden truths.

It is your responsibility to seek them out.

It speaks of all incidents of life – – and death and pain – – of both kinds.

You will not forget the word-pictures of life’s other side.




OK Folks – here it is. The big story of course. And what a story it is.

No more dog food on my dinner table. I will be LIVING BIG on the royalties that I earn on this one.

But, of course, I will need your help.

“How?” you ask.

Simply by reviewing the book mentioned above and, in the link below. You should have no trouble reading the first several pages by clicking on the ICON that says “LOOK INSIDE”. If you don’t like the book, then what more could I ask of you?

However, it you do like, purchase it. That will mean my diet of dog food will be replaced by the proverbial five fruits, five vegetables, and I hope, some protein (other than that shown on the label of the dog food can).

Thank you for your understanding.


Egalitarianism, Utopianism and Other Such Nonsense

This, that, - - - and the other thing


To profess an ideal of perfect equality or harmony is nonsensical.

Likewise so is professing an ideal of perfect free trade or pure capitalism.

Ideals are perfect goals. They will never be reached. They are simply an idea that must be perfected through trial and error. It is all in the ‘doing’ of the ideal, not in the ‘end result.’

Even scientists and mathematicians realize that by ‘approximating’ a formula and then ‘approximating’ it again and again will they ever approach the truth. That is the truth in science. That also is the truth of humanity. There is no end to discovery. It is all approximation. We believe that we can jump to the end but there is no end; we just discover another path ‘towards’ the end.

Those who preach that egalitarianism, utopianism, or pure free trade can be reached in one generation only fool themselves while they are trying…

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Adirondack Images and Tales Slideshow


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Here are the people you have met, the places you have been and the books you have read while visiting Thomas Tahauwus in his cabin. Thomas thanks all of you for keeping him company and hopes that you have enjoyed hearing about his experiences in the Adirondack Mountains


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