Now that I think about it, I am not sure whether the house I’m dismantling belonged to Lyra or Bon Bon.
Not that it particularly matters, anyway.
Lately I have been using an anemometer I found at Twilight’s castle to measure the wind speed.
I think this particular instrument was used by Twilight to measure the flying speeds of certain pegasi.
Of course, it can be used to measure wind speed, too.
Twilight had mentioned once that she measured the flying speeds of many pegasi before they used a hurricane to send water from the Ponyville reservoir to Cloudsdale.
I forgot to mention that Ponyville has a reservoir as well as the dam.
However, I never take water from it.
The reservoir, that is.
There are also numerous wells around Ponyville I have never drawn from.
Though I did look into one, and found it dried up.
In the human world I sometime slept in cars.
This was in addition to sometimes sleeping on an air mattress outside, which I think I have already said.
I missed the feel of night time.
But sometimes it was a little spooky, which is why I slept in cars.
I cannot remember how many times I was woken by the sun when I slept in cars.
Frequently I would sit in cars as the sun set, drawing a design or reading.
Of course, I would also just watch the sun.
And wonder about how it moved without magic to control it.
I wonder if we ponies lived in a too easily controlled world.
Those humans seemed to have no one controlling the seasons and the astronomical events, and they seemed fine.
On the other hoof, in the records section of the Canterlot High library, I read of many instances of devastating storms.
Recently, while trotting around the farm, I stumbled on the clubhouse that Sweetie Belle and her friends had often met.
It surprised me, due to the fact that I had forgotten that it was there.
As it turns out, the clubhouse is close to the river.
Almost every one of the scrolls I had read in Canterlot I had read out loud, come to think of it.
For some reason, a part of the Hearth’s Warming Eve pageant I always liked was Smart Cookie pretending to be unburdened so that Chancellor Puddinghead would give her the map.
Though of course by then the map would be all but ruined, with two holes cut from the center by Chancellor Puddinghead so that she could wear it.
Yes, wear it. Chancellor Puddinghead has always been written as a spectacular bumbler, I think.
Part of me wonders whether that characterization was fair.
Surely no ruler would be as foolish as to destroy an essential map even as she used it to guide her people to a new land.
I read somewhere that Equestria historians agree that the incident was not a literal event, but rather symbolic of the real Chancellor’s lack of foresight generally and in specific the lack of cartographers on that expedition.
The clubhouse that Sweetie Belle and her friends had frequented, by the way, had become dilapidated.
Part of the roof has fallen in, exposing the room inside to the elements.
Not that there was much in the clubhouse, after all.
Just a few chairs, and some posters of Rainbow Dash.
I think that the pegasi foal—her name was Scootaloo, I am sure—was quite the Rainbow Dash fan.
There were also some Rainbow Dash-inspired caps in a pile in a corner.
I found Scootaloo’s scooter outside, buried in the grass.
In fact, I walked right into it when I had approached the clubhouse, and kicked my hoof right into it.
Now the scooter is all rusted over.
I tried to ride it, but it would only move very spasmodically, and listed hopelessly to the left.
I returned it to the grass outside the clubhouse.
Yesterday I brought wildflowers into the farmhouse, and so now I can breathe them all over the house.
I also dressed myself, for reasons I am not sure of.
Something simple: a little magenta number and a nice chapeau.
This particular dress had been somewhat faded in the sun.
Nonetheless there was still a little life in its hues.
One winter in the human world I left out some clothing, which became frozen after an unexpected snowfall.
I could stand the pants upright in the snow.
In a way they were like statues, or snow sculptures.
I am still wearing the magenta dress, which I kept on while sleeping.
When I am reacquainted with a dress in such an intimate way I begin to notice its flaws.
For example, I do not like the pleats.
This dress would do better without.
Also, the hemline is a little too long.
In the depths of my madness I had tried to lower the sun.
Naturally, it stayed put.
I couldn’t even feel it through my horn.
I struggled and struggled until I felt dizzy, and passed out.
This was when I was in Canterlot.
After I read in the Canterlot Archives that before Celestia and Luna, a group of powerful warlocks had raised and lowered the sun and moon every day.
Perhaps I thought that if I tried my hardest I could move it a little bit at a time, until it finally came down.
The plans of mice and mares, as the old saying goes.
I don't know for sure, but I don’t think I moved the sun even a tiny bit.
On the other hoof, maybe it moved such a minuscule amount that I hadn’t even noticed it.
In any case, I think I will never have enough magical strength to move it properly, even if I tried every single day.
Somepony once said that the world is all that is the case.
Supposedly that pony had not known about the human world, or otherwise they might have said ‘the worlds’ or even ‘everything.’
Occasionally a page from a newspaper will blow past me as I walk through town.
Some pages from ThePonyville Express, or even sometimes Equestria Daily, the Canterlot newspaper.
Most of the pages are faded or torn.
But then again, some of them aren’t.
Occasionally I will catch snippets of some breaking news from long ago.
Once there was a page from The Foal Free Press, the school newspaper that my sister worked on for a brief stint.
That one was not completely faded, though it had yellowed and torn.
It was the article about Mayor Mare dyeing her hair.
I had kept copies of all of my sister’s columns, but lost them when my boutique burned down, of course.
I kept them even though I had been mad at Sweetie Belle for publishing those embarrassing things about me.
Naturally, I should have also been upset that ‘Gabby Gums’ wrote mean things about other ponies, but somehow I did not think of it.
I learned the same lesson as Sweetie Belle that day.
Nonetheless, I could never resist a little juicy gossip.
In a sense, Sweetie Belle’s lesson reined my desires back into check.
One must not forget that gossip is said about real ponies.
Well, actually, quite possibly the gossip column I read about Mayor Mare was no longer about a real pony.
I view that as a distinct possibility.
In fact, nowadays I view it as the only possibility.
Scootaloo stopped writing for the Foal Free Press soon after that incident, though I never found out why.
Hadn’t you enjoyed it, being one of the questions I asked her.
She had, but now it was time for the next thing.
Those three would go to the ends of Equestria for their cutie marks.
Naturally, I mean in a figurative sense.
Though now that I think about it, they had once climbed one of the mountains near Ponyville as part of their cutie mark finding activities.
I have just been out to the river.
Nor am I any longer depressed, incidentally. That is, if I was even depressed at all to begin with.
I think I had just been out of sorts. When I imagine my friends and family I tend to do that.
I used to discuss cutie marks with Sweetie Belle.
She was obsessed with the subject.
Of course, our stories were quite different.
I had been so sure of my talent and my desire to be a fashionista.
And Sweetie Belle had never been sure about her talents, I think.
It makes me a little upset to think about.
But then again, she had a burgeoning talent for magic that she practiced with Twilight.
And she was also a fantastic singer.
In time she would have received her cutie mark, I am sure of it.
I wonder if Discord left any changes on the stained glass windows he altered in Canterlot Castle.
He did have to restore the depiction of himself holding a sandwich, with Tirek, I heard.
Which he was disappointed about. He alledgedly argued with Celestia that the window should stay that way.
Presumably he was persuaded to change it back, because when I was in Canterlot I didn’t see it.
When I was at the river I decided to take all the washing in.
While I was out of sorts I had kept putting clothes out to dry, and then had not brought them back in.
In fact, one of my woolen sweaters has shrunk.
So many clothes that I had started putting them on bushes to dry.
Those clothes were covered with twigs and leaves, though, which took a while to pick out.
And when I had finished, I galloped full-pelt and jumped into the river, which was delightfully cool.
Even though I was still wearing my magenta dress.
As I write this sentence the water is still running off my mane and down my snout.