This ornamental apple tree (I'm not sure on the variety but it has white blooms) has a strange thing happening to the bark. Is this bad? Anything I can do to help? The tree appears to be healthy otherwise as far as I can tell

I wrote this as a reply but it basically turned into a little essay, so I figured I might as well post it.
Here's a (not so) brief rundown of the changes between the final cut, director's cut, and theatrical cut. We start with the final cut, the current version that most people have seen, then compare it with the directors cut and theatrical cut which most people probably haven't seen if they watched the movie on streaming or bought the standard edition blu ray.
Final cut:
They added cgi effects to make the eye reflections more obvious and appear in more scenes. It looks good, but it's used so frequently it becomes borderline distracting. It's no longer a subtle hint from a unique in camera photographic technique. It's hitting you over the head with brightly glowing eyes on deckard and all the replicants. I think you'll get something different from the original versions of these scenes.
Most of the added cgi is 2d digital matte paintings replacing the traditional matte paintings. They all have that hazy 2006 edge feathered compositing look, and in my opinion it's worse than seeing the matte lines or a slight difference in color compared to the surrounding scenery.
One of the biggest changes is a 2d animated matte in the final shot where Batty releases the dove. In the theatrical and directors cut, the dove flies off into a patch of blue sky. It's the only moment in the whole film with a blue sky, and it's perfect symbolism. It doesn't need to have perfect continuity.
Apparently Ridley Scott was always frustrated that it didn't match the grey skies. In the new shot, the dove is shrunk down and composited into a large animated matte painting with skyscrapers, smokestacks, and glowing signs that don't match with the backdrops seen throughout the fight scene on the roof.
Whether he got the shot he wanted or not, the original shot worked and clearly conveyed the emotion.
That's why I like the directors cut more than the final cut. You get all the extra content and editing improvements, but all the visuals are authentic to the original shoot and post production visual effects.
There are also some odd overdubs and line rewrites in the final cut that don't add anything in my opinion. For example, when Batty comes face to face with Tyrell, the original line is
"I want more life, fucker"
and it is replaced with "I want more life, father"
I think the original dialogue hits harder and in a way, it conveys the same meaning of "father" with deeper symbolism. The act of creating life is in a sense a destructive act because it leads to the inevitability of death.
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Directors cut:
Compared to the theatrical cut, the directors cut is extended by a decent amount. But whereas the final cut prioritizes including as much material as possible, the directors cut prioritizes pacing and momentum.
The final cut often adds an extra shot or two that seems to break up the momentum of a sequence. For example, Pris slowly sticking her fingers into Deckard's nose is only in the final cut. it's interesting and visceral, but do we really think Deckard would hold still for that? (haha)
The directors cut represents Scott's original vision for the film, prior to the studio mandated reshoots and edits. I consider this to be the definitive version.
The directors cut loses the narration and the extended theatrical ending that was mandated by the studio.
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Theatrical cut:
The theatrical cut is shorter, faster paced, and the violence is toned down a bit in some scenes.
It has the added film noir narration, which I enjoy because it adds a lot of detail about the world. For example, it specifically highlights the cityspeak language, and the ecological devastation of climate change. Harrison Ford's voice is dripping with contempt and absolutely flat. Supposedly he was trying to sabotage the voiceover, but it comes out sounding just like a cool early 50's b-grade film noir. That hardboiled pulpy gritty vibe works. It reinforces the traditional film noir archetypes and imagery, grounding it in a context that makes a very exotic world a bit more familiar.
And the biggest difference in the theatrical cut is the ending. Instead of cutting to black as Deckard and Rachel flee the apartment, there is a voiceover from Deckard explaining the message that Gaz has sent him with the origami unicorn.
After they leave the aparment, we see Rachel and Deckard in a spinner together, driving through the country on a two lane highway surrounded by pine trees. This is the only time we see trees in the original film.
Instead of total ambiguity not knowing if Rachel and Deckard will live, we know they escaped, even if it's just for a short time before they get caught.
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Connection to 2049:
I thought it was genius the way 2049 incorporated the imagery of the tree as a clear reference Deckard and Rachel escaping and starting a life together in the country. The tree also acts as the symbol of heredity and the family tree, as opposed to the artificial creation of Wallace's replicants.
Villeneuve performed an amazing balancing act- 2049 connects perfectly with all 3 cuts of the original.

By what means the papers out of which I have made a connected story came into my hands is the last point which the reader will learn from these pages. But it is necessary to prefix to my extracts from them a statement of the form in which I possess them. They consist, then, partly of a series of collections for a book of travels, such a volume as was a common product of the forties and fifties. Horace Marryat's Journal of a Residence in Jutland and the Danish Isles is a fair specimen of the class to which I allude. These books usually treated of some unfamiliar district on the Continent. They were illustrated with woodcuts or steel plates. They gave details of hotel accommodation, and of means of communication, such as we now expect to find in any well-regulated guide-book, and they dealt largely in reported conversations with intelligent foreigners, racy innkeepers and garrulous peasants. In a word, they were chatty. Begun with the idea of furnishing material for such a book, my papers as they progressed assumed the character of a record of one single personal experience, and this record was continued up to the very eve, almost, of its termination. The writer was a Mr. Wraxall. For my knowledge of him I have to depend entirely on the evidence his writings afford, and from these I deduce that he was a man past middle age, possessed of some private means, and very much alone in the world. He had, it seems, no settled abode in England, but was a denizen of hotels and boarding-houses. It is probable that he entertained the idea of settling down at some future time which never came; and I think it also likely that the Pantechnicon fire in the early seventies must have destroyed a great deal that would have thrown light on his antecedents, for he refers once or twice to property of his that was warehoused at that establishment. It is further apparent that Mr. Wraxall had published a book, and that it treated of a holiday he had once taken in Brittany. More than this I cannot say about his work, because a diligent search in bibliographical works has convinced me that it must have appeared either anonymously or under a pseudonym. As to his character, it is not difficult to form some superficial opinion. He must have been an intelligent and cultivated man. It seems that he was near being a Fellow of his college at Oxford—Brasenose, as I judge from the Calendar. His besetting fault was pretty clearly that of over-inquisitiveness, possibly a good fault in a traveller, certainly a fault for which this traveller paid dearly enough in the end. On what proved to be his last expedition, he was plotting another book. Scandinavia, a region not widely known to Englishmen forty years ago, had struck him as an interesting field. He must have lighted on some old books of Swedish history or memoirs, and the idea had struck him that there was room for a book descriptive of travel in Sweden, interspersed with episodes from the history of some of the great Swedish families. He procured letters of introduction, therefore, to some persons of quality in Sweden, and set out thither in the early summer of 1863. Of his travels in the North there is no need to speak, nor of his residence of some weeks in Stockholm. I need only mention that some savant resident there put him on the track of an important collection of family papers belonging to the proprietors of an ancient manor-house in Vestergothland, and obtained for him permission to examine them. The manor-house, or herrgård, in question is to be called Råbäck (pronounced something like Roebeck), though that is not its name. It is one of the best buildings of its kind in all the country, and the picture of it in Dablenberg's Suecia antiqua et moderna, engraved in 1694, shows it very much as the tourist may see it to-day. It was built soon after 1600, and is, roughly speaking, very much like an English house of that period in respect of material—red-brick with stone facings—and style. The man who built it was a scion of the great house of De la Gardie, and his descendants possess it still. De la Gardie is the name by which I will designate them when mention of them becomes necessary. They received Mr. Wraxall with great kindness and courtesy, and pressed him to stay in the house as long as his researches lasted. But, preferring to be independent, and mistrusting his powers of conversing in Swedish, he settled himself at the village inn, which turned out quite sufficiently comfortable, at any rate during the summer months. This arrangement would entail a short walk daily to and from the manor-house of something under a mile. The house itself stood in a park, and was protected—we should say grown up—with large old timber. Near it you found the walled garden, and then entered a close wood fringing one of the small lakes with which the whole country is pitted. Then came the wall of the demesne, and you climbed a steep knoll—a knob of rock lightly covered with soil—and on the top of this stood the church, fenced in with tall dark trees. It was a curious building to English eyes. The nave and aisles were low, and filled with pews and galleries. In the western gallery stood the handsome old organ, gaily painted, and with silver pipes. The ceiling was flat, and had been adorned by a seventeenth-century artist with a strange and hideous "Last Judgment," full of lurid flames, falling cities, burning ships, crying souls, and brown and smiling demons. Handsome brass coronæ hung from the roof; the pulpit was like a doll's-house, covered with little painted wooden cherubs and saints; a stand with three hour-glasses was hinged to the preacher's desk. Such sights as these may be seen in many a church in Sweden now, but what distinguished this one was an addition to the original building. At the eastern end of the north aisle the builder of the manor-house had erected a mausoleum for himself and his family. It was a largish eight-sided building, lighted by a series of oval windows, and it had a domed roof, topped by a kind of pumpkin-shaped object rising into a spire, a form in which Swedish architects greatly delighted. The roof was of copper externally, and was painted black, while the walls, in common with those of the church, were staringly white. To this mausoleum there was no access from the church. It had a portal and steps of its own on the northern side. Past the churchyard the path to the village goes, and not more than three or four minutes bring you to the inn door. On the first day of his stay at Råbäck Mr. Wraxall found the church door open, and made those notes of the interior which I have epitomized. Into the mausoleum, however, he could not make his way. He could by looking through the keyhole just descry that there were fine marble effigies and sarcophagi of copper, and a wealth of armorial ornament, which made him very anxious to spend some time in investigation. The papers he had come to examine at the manor-house proved to be of just the kind he wanted for his book. There were family correspondence, journals, and account-books of the earliest owners of the estate, very carefully kept and clearly written, full of amusing and picturesque detail. The first De la Gardie appeared in them as a strong and capable man. Shortly after the building of the mansion there had been a period of distress in the district, and the peasants had risen and attacked several châteaux and done some damage. The owner of Råbäck took a leading part in suppressing the trouble, and there was reference to executions of ringleaders and severe punishments inflicted with no sparing hand. The portrait of this Magnus de la Gardie was one of the best in the house, and Mr. Wraxall studied it with no little interest after his day's work. He gives no detailed description of it, but I gather that the face impressed him rather by its power than by its beauty or goodness; in fact, he writes that Count Magnus was an almost phenomenally ugly man. On this day Mr. Wraxall took his supper with the family, and walked back in the late but still bright evening. "I must remember," he writes, "to ask the sexton if he can let me into the mausoleum at the church. He evidently has access to it himself, for I saw him to-night standing on the steps, and, as I thought, locking or unlocking the door." I find that early on the following day Mr. Wraxall had some conversation with his landlord. His setting it down at such length as he does surprised me at first; but I soon realized that the papers I was reading were, at least in their beginning, the materials for the book he was meditating, and that it was to have been one of those quasi-journalistic productions which admit of the introduction of an admixture of conversational matter. His object, he says, was to find out whether any traditions of Count Magnus de la Gardie lingered on in the scenes of that gentleman's activity, and whether the popular estimate of him were favourable or not. He found that the Count was decidedly not a favourite. If his tenants came late to their work on the days which they owed to him as Lord of the Manor, they were set on the wooden horse, or flogged and branded in the manor-house yard. One or two cases there were of men who had occupied lands which encroached on the lord's domain, and whose houses had been mysteriously burnt on a winter's night, with the whole family inside. But what seemed to dwell on the innkeeper's mind most—for he returned to the subject more than once—was that the Count had been on the Black Pilgrimage, and had brought something or someone back with him.
You will naturally inquire, as Mr. Wraxall did, what the Black Pilgrimage may have been. But your curiosity on the point must remain unsatisfied for the time being, just as his did. The landlord was evidently unwilling to give a full answer, or indeed any answer, on the point, and, being called out for a moment, trotted off with obvious alacrity, only putting his head in at the door a few minutes afterwards to say that he was called away to Skara, and should not be back till evening. So Mr. Wraxall had to go unsatisfied to his day's work at the manor-house. The papers on which he was just then engaged soon put his thoughts into another channel, for he had to occupy himself with glancing over the correspondence between Sophia Albertina in Stockholm and her married cousin Ulrica Leonora at Råbäck in the years 1705-1710. The letters were of exceptional interest from the light they threw upon the culture of that period in Sweden, as anyone can testify who has read the full edition of them in the publications of the Swedish Historical Manuscripts Commission. In the afternoon he had done with these, and after returning the boxes in which they were kept to their places on the shelf, he proceeded, very naturally, to take down some of the volumes nearest to them, in order to determine which of them had best be his principal subject of investigation next day. The shelf he had hit upon was occupied mostly by a collection of account-books in the writing of the first Count Magnus. But one among them was not an account-book, but a book of alchemical and other tracts in another sixteenth-century hand. Not being very familiar with alchemical literature, Mr. Wraxall spends much space which he might have spared in setting out the names and beginnings of the various treatises: The book of the Phœnix, book of the Thirty Words, book of the Toad, book of Miriam, Turba philosophorum, and so forth; and then he announces with a good deal of circumstance his delight at finding, on a leaf originally left blank near the middle of the book, some writing of Count Magnus himself headed "Liber nigræ peregrinationis." It is true that only a few lines were written, but there was quite enough to show that the landlord had that morning been referring to a belief at least as old as the time of Count Magnus, and probably shared by him. This is the English of what was written: "If any man desires to obtain a long life, if he would obtain a faithful messenger and see the blood of his enemies, it is necessary that he should first go into the city of Chorazin, and there salute the prince...." Here there was an erasure of one word, not very thoroughly done, so that Mr. Wraxall felt pretty sure that he was right in reading it as aëris ("of the air"). But there was no more of the text copied, only a line in Latin: "Quære reliqua hujus materiei inter secretiora" (See the rest of this matter among the more private things). It could not be denied that this threw a rather lurid light upon the tastes and beliefs of the Count; but to Mr. Wraxall, separated from him by nearly three centuries, the thought that he might have added to his general forcefulness alchemy, and to alchemy something like magic, only made him a more picturesque figure; and when, after a rather prolonged contemplation of his picture in the hall, Mr. Wraxall set out on his homeward way, his mind was full of the thought of Count Magnus. He had no eyes for his surroundings, no perception of the evening scents of the woods or the evening light on the lake; and when all of a sudden he pulled up short, he was astonished to find himself already at the gate of the churchyard, and within a few minutes of his dinner. His eyes fell on the mausoleum. "Ah," he said, "Count Magnus, there you are. I should dearly like to see you." "Like many solitary men," he writes, "I have a habit of talking to myself aloud; and, unlike some of the Greek and Latin particles, I do not expect an answer. Certainly, and perhaps fortunately in this case, there was neither voice nor any that regarded: only the woman who, I suppose, was cleaning up the church, dropped some metallic object on the floor, whose clang startled me. Count Magnus, I think, sleeps sound enough." That same evening the landlord of the inn, who had heard Mr. Wraxall say that he wished to see the clerk or deacon (as he would be called in Sweden) of the parish, introduced him to that official in the inn parlour. A visit to the De la Gardie tomb-house was soon arranged for the next day, and a little general conversation ensued. Mr. Wraxall, remembering that one function of Scandinavian deacons is to teach candidates for Confirmation, thought he would refresh his own memory on a Biblical point. "Can you tell me," he said, "anything about Chorazin?" The deacon seemed startled, but readily reminded him how that village had once been denounced. "To be sure," said Mr. Wraxall; "it is, I suppose, quite a ruin now?" "So I expect," replied the deacon. "I have heard some of our old priests say that Antichrist is to be born there; and there are tales——" "Ah! what tales are those?" Mr. Wraxall put in. "Tales, I was going to say, which I have forgotten," said the deacon; and soon after that he said good night. The landlord was now alone, and at Mr. Wraxall's mercy; and that inquirer was not inclined to spare him. "Herr Nielsen," he said, "I have found out something about the Black Pilgrimage. You may as well tell me what you know. What did the Count bring back with him?" Swedes are habitually slow, perhaps, in answering, or perhaps the landlord was an exception. I am not sure; but Mr. Wraxall notes that the landlord spent at least one minute in looking at him before he said anything at all. Then he came close up to his guest, and with a good deal of effort he spoke: "Mr. Wraxall, I can tell you this one little tale, and no more—not any more. You must not ask anything when I have done. In my grandfather's time—that is, ninety-two years ago—there were two men who said: 'The Count is dead; we do not care for him. We will go to-night and have a free hunt in his wood'—the long wood on the hill that you have seen behind Råbäck. Well, those that heard them say this, they said: 'No, do not go; we are sure you will meet with persons walking who should not be walking. They should be resting, not walking.' These men laughed. There were no forest-men to keep the wood, because no one wished to hunt there. The family were not here at the house. These men could do what they wished. "Very well, they go to the wood that night. My grandfather was sitting here in this room. It was the summer, and a light night. With the window open, he could see out to the wood, and hear. "So he sat there, and two or three men with him, and they listened. At first they hear nothing at all; then they hear someone—you know how far away it is—they hear someone scream, just as if the most inside part of his soul was twisted out of him. All of them in the room caught hold of each other, and they sat so for three-quarters of an hour. Then they hear someone else, only about three hundred ells off. They hear him laugh out loud: it was not one of those two men that laughed, and, indeed, they have all of them said that it was not any man at all. After that they hear a great door shut. "Then, when it was just light with the sun, they all went to the priest. They said to him: "'Father, put on your gown and your ruff, and come to bury these men, Anders Bjornsen and Hans Thorbjorn.' "You understand that they were sure these men were dead. So they went to the wood—my grandfather never forgot this. He said they were all like so many dead men themselves. The priest, too, he was in a white fear. He said when they came to him: "'I heard one cry in the night, and I heard one laugh afterwards. If I cannot forget that, I shall not be able to sleep again.' "So they went to the wood, and they found these men on the edge of the wood. Hans Thorbjorn was standing with his back against a tree, and all the time he was pushing with his hands—pushing something away from him which was not there. So he was not dead. And they led him away, and took him to the house at Nykjoping, and he died before the winter; but he went on pushing with his hands. Also Anders Bjornsen was there; but he was dead. And I tell you this about Anders Bjornsen, that he was once a beautiful man, but now his face was not there, because the flesh of it was sucked away off the bones. You understand that? My grandfather did not forget that. And they laid him on the bier which they brought, and they put a cloth over his head, and the priest walked before; and they began to sing the psalm for the dead as well as they could. So, as they were singing the end of the first verse, one fell down, who was carrying the head of the bier, and the others looked back, and they saw that the cloth had fallen off, and the eyes of Anders Bjornsen were looking up, because there was nothing to close over them. And this they could not bear. Therefore the priest laid the cloth upon him, and sent for a spade, and they buried him in that place." The next day Mr. Wraxall records that the deacon called for him soon after his breakfast, and took him to the church and mausoleum. He noticed that the key of the latter was hung on a nail just by the pulpit, and it occurred to him that, as the church door seemed to be left unlocked as a rule, it would not be difficult for him to pay a second and more private visit to the monuments if there proved to be more of interest among them than could be digested at first. The building, when he entered it, he found not unimposing. The monuments, mostly large erections of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, were dignified if luxuriant, and the epitaphs and heraldry were copious. The central space of the domed room was occupied by three copper sarcophagi, covered with finely-engraved ornament. Two of them had, as is commonly the case in Denmark and Sweden, a large metal crucifix on the lid. The third, that of Count Magnus, as it appeared, had, instead of that, a full-length effigy engraved upon it, and round the edge were several bands of similar ornament representing various scenes. One was a battle, with cannon belching out smoke, and walled towns, and troops of pikemen. Another showed an execution. In a third, among trees, was a man running at full speed, with flying hair and outstretched hands. After him followed a strange form; it would be hard to say whether the artist had intended it for a man, and was unable to give the requisite similitude, or whether it was intentionally made as monstrous as it looked. In view of the skill with which the rest of the drawing was done, Mr. Wraxall felt inclined to adopt the latter idea. The figure was unduly short, and was for the most part muffled in a hooded garment which swept the ground. The only part of the form which projected from that shelter was not shaped like any hand or arm. Mr. Wraxall compares it to the tentacle of a devil-fish, and continues: "On seeing this, I said to myself, 'This, then, which is evidently an allegorical representation of some kind—a fiend pursuing a hunted soul—may be the origin of the story of Count Magnus and his mysterious companion. Let us see how the huntsman is pictured: doubtless it will be a demon blowing his horn.'" But, as it turned out, there was no such sensational figure, only the semblance of a cloaked man on a hillock, who stood leaning on a stick, and watching the hunt with an interest which the engraver had tried to express in his attitude. Mr. Wraxall noted the finely-worked and massive steel padlocks—three in number—which secured the sarcophagus. One of them, he saw, was detached, and lay on the pavement. And then, unwilling to delay the deacon longer or to waste his own working-time, he made his way onward to the manor-house. It is curious," he notes, "how on retracing a familiar path one's thoughts engross one to the absolute exclusion of surrounding objects. To-night, for the second time, I had entirely failed to notice where I was going (I had planned a private visit to the tomb-house to copy the epitaphs), when I suddenly, as it were, awoke to consciousness, and found myself (as before) turning in at the churchyard gate, and, I believe, singing or chanting some such words as, 'Are you awake, Count Magnus? Are you asleep, Count Magnus?' and then something more which I have failed to recollect. It seemed to me that I must have been behaving in this nonsensical way for some time." He found the key of the mausoleum where he had expected to find it, and copied the greater part of what he wanted; in fact, he stayed until the light began to fail him. "I must have been wrong," he writes, "in saying that one of the padlocks of my Count's sarcophagus was unfastened; I see to-night that two are loose. I picked both up, and laid them carefully on the window-ledge, after trying unsuccessfully to close them. The remaining one is still firm, and, though I take it to be a spring lock, I cannot guess how it is opened. Had I succeeded in undoing it, I am almost afraid I should have taken the liberty of opening the sarcophagus. It is strange, the interest I feel in the personality of this, I fear, somewhat ferocious and grim old noble." The day following was, as it turned out, the last of Mr. Wraxall's stay at Råbäck. He received letters connected with certain investments which made it desirable that he should return to England; his work among the papers was practically done, and travelling was slow. He decided, therefore, to make his farewells, put some finishing touches to his notes, and be off. These finishing touches and farewells, as it turned out, took more time than he had expected. The hospitable family insisted on his staying to dine with them—they dined at three—and it was verging on half-past six before he was outside the iron gates of Råbäck. He dwelt on every step of his walk by the lake, determined to saturate himself, now that he trod it for the last time, in the sentiment of the place and hour. And when he reached the summit of the churchyard knoll, he lingered for many minutes, gazing at the limitless prospect of woods near and distant, all dark beneath a sky of liquid green. When at last he turned to go, the thought struck him that surely he must bid farewell to Count Magnus as well as the rest of the De la Gardies. The church was but twenty yards away, and he knew where the key of the mausoleum hung. It was not long before he was standing over the great copper coffin, and, as usual, talking to himself aloud. "You may have been a bit of a rascal in your time, Magnus," he was saying, "but for all that I should like to see you, or, rather——" "Just at that instant," he says, "I felt a blow on my foot. Hastily enough I drew it back, and something fell on the pavement with a clash. It was the third, the last of the three padlocks which had fastened the sarcophagus. I stooped to pick it up, and—Heaven is my witness that I am writing only the bare truth—before I had raised myself there was a sound of metal hinges creaking, and I distinctly saw the lid shifting upwards. I may have behaved like a coward, but I could not for my life stay for one moment. I was outside that dreadful building in less time than I can write—almost as quickly as I could have said—the words; and what frightens me yet more, I could not turn the key in the lock. As I sit here in my room noting these facts, I ask myself (it was not twenty minutes ago) whether that noise of creaking metal continued, and I cannot tell whether it did or not. I only know that there was something more than I have written that alarmed me, but whether it was sound or sight I am not able to remember. What is this that I have done?" Poor Mr. Wraxall! He set out on his journey to England on the next day, as he had planned, and he reached England in safety; and yet, as I gather from his changed hand and inconsequent jottings, a broken man. One of several small notebooks that have come to me with his papers gives, not a key to, but a kind of inkling of, his experiences. Much of his journey was made by canal-boat, and I find not less than six painful attempts to enumerate and describe his fellow-passengers. The entries are of this kind: "24. Pastor of village in Skåne. Usual black coat and soft black hat. "25. Commercial traveller from Stockholm going to Trollhättan. Black cloak, brown hat. "26. Man in long black cloak, broad-leafed hat, very old-fashioned." This entry is lined out, and a note added: "Perhaps identical with No. 13. Have not yet seen his face." On referring to No. 13, I find that he is a Roman priest in a cassock. The net result of the reckoning is always the same. Twenty-eight people appear in the enumeration, one being always a man in a long black cloak and broad hat, and the other a "short figure in dark cloak and hood." On the other hand, it is always noted that only twenty-six passengers appear at meals, and that the man in the cloak is perhaps absent, and the short figure is certainly absent. On reaching England, it appears that Mr. Wraxall landed at Harwich, and that he resolved at once to put himself out of the reach of some person or persons whom he never specifies, but whom he had evidently come to regard as his pursuers. Accordingly he took a vehicle—it was a closed fly—not trusting the railway, and drove across country to the village of Belchamp St. Paul. It was about nine o'clock on a moonlight August night when he neared the place. He was sitting forward, and looking out of the window at the fields and thickets—there was little else to be seen—racing past him. Suddenly he came to a cross-road. At the corner two figures were standing motionless; both were in dark cloaks; the taller one wore a hat, the shorter a hood. He had no time to see their faces, nor did they make any motion that he could discern. Yet the horse shied violently and broke into a gallop, and Mr. Wraxall sank back into his seat in something like desperation. He had seen them before. Arrived at Belchamp St. Paul, he was fortunate enough to find a decent furnished lodging, and for the next twenty-four hours he lived, comparatively speaking, in peace. His last notes were written on this day. They are too disjointed and ejaculatory to be given here in full, but the substance of them is clear enough. He is expecting a visit from his pursuers—how or when he knows not—and his constant cry is "What has he done?" and "Is there no hope?" Doctors, he knows, would call him mad, policemen would laugh at him. The parson is away. What can he do but lock his door and cry to God? People still remembered last year at Belchamp St. Paul how a strange gentleman came one evening in August years back; and how the next morning but one he was found dead, and there was an inquest; and the jury that viewed the body fainted, seven of 'em did, and none of 'em wouldn't speak to what they see, and the verdict was visitation of God; and how the people as kep' the 'ouse moved out that same week, and went away from that part. But they do not, I think, know that any glimmer of light has ever been thrown, or could be thrown, on the mystery. It so happened that last year the little house came into my hands as part of a legacy. It had stood empty since 1863, and there seemed no prospect of letting it; so I had it pulled down, and the papers of which I have given you an abstract were found in a forgotten cupboard under the window in the best bedroom.

Isaiah 64, this is the our generation remembering the days of glory before the Lord got angry and hid himself away:
"Oh, that you would rend the heavens and come down, that the mountains would tremble before you! As when fire sets twigs ablaze and causes water to boil, come down to make your name known to your enemies and cause the nations to quake before you! For when you did awesome things that we did not expect, you came down, and the mountains trembled before you. Since ancient times no one has heard, no ear has perceived, no eye has seen any God besides you, who acts on behalf of those who wait for him. You come to the help of those who gladly do right, who remember your ways. But when we continued to sin against them, you were angry. How then can we be saved? All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away. No one calls on your name or strives to lay hold of you; for you have hidden your face from us and have given us over to our sins.
Yet you, Lord, are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand. Do not be angry beyond measure, Lord; do not remember our sins forever. Oh, look on us, we pray, for we are all your people. Your sacred cities have become a wasteland; even Zion is a wasteland, Jerusalem a desolation. Our holy and glorious temple, where our ancestors praised you, has been burned with fire, and all that we treasured lies in ruins. After all this, Lord, will you hold yourself back? Will you keep silent and punish us beyond measure?"
Isaiah 65, the Lord explaining why he has been hiding away, and why he is angry:
“I revealed myself to those who did not ask for me; I was found by those who did not seek me. To a nation that did not call on my name, I said, ‘Here am I, here am I.’ All day long I have held out my hands to an obstinate people, who walk in ways not good, pursuing their own imaginations— a people who continually provoke me to my very face, offering sacrifices in gardens and burning incense on altars of brick; who sit among the graves and spend their nights keeping secret vigil; who eat the flesh of pigs, and whose pots hold broth of impure meat; who say, ‘Keep away; don’t come near me, for I am too sacred for you!’ Such people are smoke in my nostrils, a fire that keeps burning all day.
“See, it stands written before me: I will not keep silent but will pay back in full; I will pay it back into their laps— both your sins and the sins of your ancestors,” says the Lord. “Because they burned sacrifices on the mountains and defied me on the hills, I will measure into their laps the full payment for their former deeds.”
This is what the Lord says:
“As when juice is still found in a cluster of grapes and people say, ‘Don’t destroy it, there is still a blessing in it,’ so will I do in behalf of my servants; I will not destroy them all. I will bring forth descendants from Jacob, and from Judah those who will possess my mountains; my chosen people will inherit them, and there will my servants live. Sharon will become a pasture for flocks, and the Valley of Achor a resting place for herds, for my people who seek me.
“But as for you who forsake the Lord and forget my holy mountain, who spread a table for Fortune and fill bowls of mixed wine for Destiny, I will destine you for the sword, and all of you will fall in the slaughter; for I called but you did not answer, I spoke but you did not listen. You did evil in my sight and chose what displeases me.”
Therefore this is what the Sovereign Lord says:
“My servants will eat, but you will go hungry; my servants will drink, but you will go thirsty; my servants will rejoice, but you will be put to shame. My servants will sing out of the joy of their hearts, but you will cry out from anguish of heart and wail in brokenness of spirit. You will leave your name for my chosen ones to use in their curses; the Sovereign Lord will put you to death, but to his servants he will give another name. Whoever invokes a blessing in the land will do so by the one true God; whoever takes an oath in the land will swear by the one true God. For the past troubles will be forgotten and hidden from my eyes.
“See, I will create new heavens and a new earth. The former things will not be remembered, nor will they come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I will create, for I will create Jerusalem to be a delight and its people a joy. I will rejoice over Jerusalem and take delight in my people; the sound of weeping and of crying will be heard in it no more.
“Never again will there be in it an infant who lives but a few days, or an old man who does not live out his years; the one who dies at a hundred will be thought a mere child; the one who fails to reach^\)^a\) a hundred will be considered accursed. They will build houses and dwell in them; they will plant vineyards and eat their fruit. No longer will they build houses and others live in them, or plant and others eat. For as the days of a tree, so will be the days of my people; my chosen ones will long enjoy the work of their hands. They will not labor in vain, nor will they bear children doomed to misfortune; for they will be a people blessed by the Lord, they and their descendants with them. Before they call I will answer; while they are still speaking I will hear. The wolf and the lamb will feed together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox, and dust will be the serpent’s food. They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain,” says the Lord."
Isaiah 66, these are like final messages on what the Lord wants from his children:
"This is what the Lord says:
“Heaven is my throne, and the earth is my footstool. Where is the house you will build for me? Where will my resting place be? Has not my hand made all these things, and so they came into being?” declares the Lord.
“These are the ones I look on with favor: those who are humble and contrite in spirit, and who tremble at my word. But whoever sacrifices a bull is like one who kills a person, and whoever offers a lamb is like one who breaks a dog’s neck; whoever makes a grain offering is like one who presents pig’s blood, and whoever burns memorial incense is like one who worships an idol. They have chosen their own ways, and they delight in their abominations; so I also will choose harsh treatment for them and will bring on them what they dread. For when I called, no one answered, when I spoke, no one listened. They did evil in my sight and chose what displeases me.”
Hear the word of the Lord, you who tremble at his word: “Your own people who hate you, and exclude you because of my name, have said, ‘Let the Lord be glorified, that we may see your joy!’ Yet they will be put to shame. Hear that uproar from the city, hear that noise from the temple! It is the sound of the Lord repaying his enemies all they deserve.
“Before she goes into labor, she gives birth; before the pains come upon her, she delivers a son. Who has ever heard of such things? Who has ever seen things like this? Can a country be born in a day or a nation be brought forth in a moment? Yet no sooner is Zion in labor than she gives birth to her children. Do I bring to the moment of birth and not give delivery?” says the Lord. “Do I close up the womb when I bring to delivery?” says your God. “Rejoice with Jerusalem and be glad for her, all you who love her; rejoice greatly with her, all you who mourn over her. For you will nurse and be satisfied at her comforting breasts; you will drink deeply and delight in her overflowing abundance.”
For this is what the Lord says:
“I will extend peace to her like a river, and the wealth of nations like a flooding stream; you will nurse and be carried on her arm and dandled on her knees. As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you; and you will be comforted over Jerusalem.”
When you see this, your heart will rejoice and you will flourish like grass; the hand of the Lord will be made known to his servants, but his fury will be shown to his foes. See, the Lord is coming with fire, and his chariots are like a whirlwind; he will bring down his anger with fury, and his rebuke with flames of fire. For with fire and with his sword the Lord will execute judgment on all people, and many will be those slain by the Lord.
“Those who consecrate and purify themselves to go into the gardens, following one who is among those who eat the flesh of pigs, rats and other unclean things—they will meet their end together with the one they follow,” declares the Lord.
“And I, because of what they have planned and done, am about to come and gather the people of all nations and languages, and they will come and see my glory.
“I will set a sign among them, and I will send some of those who survive to the nations—to Tarshish, to the Libyans and Lydians (famous as archers), to Tubal and Greece, and to the distant islands that have not heard of my fame or seen my glory. They will proclaim my glory among the nations. And they will bring all your people, from all the nations, to my holy mountain in Jerusalem as an offering to the Lord—on horses, in chariots and wagons, and on mules and camels,” says the Lord. “They will bring them, as the Israelites bring their grain offerings, to the temple of the Lord in ceremonially clean vessels. And I will select some of them also to be priests and Levites,” says the Lord.
“As the new heavens and the new earth that I make will endure before me,” declares the Lord, “so will your name and descendants endure. From one New Moon to another and from one Sabbath to another, all mankind will come and bow down before me,” says the Lord. “And they will go out and look on the dead bodies of those who rebelled against me; the worms that eat them will not die, the fire that burns them will not be quenched, and they will be loathsome to all mankind.”
The End of the books of Isaiah.
Revelations 21, the end:
"Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,” for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”
He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”
He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children. But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars—they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death.” - Revelations 21: 1-8.
Book of Enoch, the end:
"And I stood up to see till they folded up that old house; and carried off all the pillars, and all the beams and ornaments of the house were at the same time folded up with it, and they carried it off and laid it in a place in the south of the land. And I saw till the Lord of the sheep brought a new house greater and loftier than that first, and set it up in the place of the first which had been folded up: all its pillars were new, and its ornaments were new and larger than those of the first, the old one which He had taken away, and all the sheep were within it.
And I saw all the sheep which had been left, and all the beasts on the earth, and all the birds of the heaven, falling down and doing homage to those sheep and making petition to and obeying them in every thing. And thereafter those three who were clothed in white and had seized me by my hand[who had taken me up before], and the hand of that ram also seizing hold of me, they took me up and set me down in the midst of those sheep before the judgement took place†. And those sheep were all white, and their wool was abundant and clean. And all that had been destroyed and dispersed, and all the beasts of the field, and all the birds of the heaven, assembled in that house, and the Lord of the sheep rejoiced with great joy because they were all good and had returned to His house. And I saw till they laid down that sword, which had been given to the sheep, and they brought it back into the house, and it was sealed before the presence of the Lord, and all the sheep were invited into that house, but it held them not. And the eyes of them all were opened, and they saw the good, and there was not one among them that did not see. And I saw that that house was large and broad and very full.
And I saw that a white bull was born, with large horns and all the beasts of the field and all the birds of the air feared him and made petition to him all the time. And I saw till all their generations were transformed, and they all became white bulls; and the first among them became a lamb, and that lamb became a great animal and had great black horns on its head; and the Lord of the sheep rejoiced over it and over all the oxen. And I slept in their midst: and I awoke and saw everything. This is the vision which I saw while I slept, and I awoke and blessed the Lord of righteousness and gave Him glory. Then I wept with a great weeping and my tears stayed not till I could no longer endure it: when I saw, they flowed on account of what I had seen; for everything shall come and be fulfilled, and all the deeds of men in their order were shown to me. On that night I remembered the first dream, and because of it I wept and was troubled--because I had seen that vision."

I'd love to start a list of weather events so that if someone didn't know about them, they could find out! I'm not including things that don't affect the environment beyond Town Square (such as Halloween, Turkey Day, and Valentine's Day) or gatherables dependent on weather (such as seasonal recipes or critters).
Weather forecast can be see on in-game TVs the preceding day at 06:14-06:29, 07:45-07:58, and 22:45-22:58. Here is a comparison of foliage in each season.

Year-Round

• Weather-related dialogue from villagers
• Double rainbow after hours of rain, appearing for an hour between 11:00-15:00, starting faint and growing in intensity before fading away again
• Precipitation will cause flowers to spawn the next day
• Sometimes stars shoot across mostly cleaclear skies and may be "wished" upon
• Sometimes there will be a meteor shower (which Isabelle will announce if there isn't anything pressing going on) where many stars shoot across the sky at night and may be wished upon; Celeste will also visit during meteor showers

Spring

Northern Hemisphere: March-May
Southern Hemisphere: September-November

• Greenery:
  • Grass and foliage brightens to a vibrant green as the season progresses
  • Bark is a tannelighter brown
  • Weeds become bright green and incorporate white and purple flowers
  • Sakura/Cherry Blossoms: 1-10 [April/October]
    • Sakura/cherry blossoms bloom on all hardwood trees
    • Catchable petals (crafting material) float through the air
    • Non-catchable petals fill the air and rivers 7-10 [April/October]
    • Hardwood trees' bark is a grey-brown during this time, resembling actual cherry/sakura trees
    • Petals can be seen falling outside the museum's windows by the art wing's entrance
  • Shrubs:
    • Northern Hemisphere:
    • Southern hemisphere
• Rain:
  • Rain can fall but generally isn't very heavy
  • It patters on window panes, umbrellas, etc
  • Player's footsteps splash
  • Ambient music incorporates a marimba
• Besides during sakura/cherry blossom time, green leaves can be seen falling outside the museum's windows by the art wing's entrance

Honorable mentions

• Loading screen island's grass is light green
• Northern hemisphere only: Bunny Day will cause decorated eggs to spawn in the water, on and in trees, from rocks, in balloon gifts, and in the ground for the week before and on the Protestant Christian holiday Easter

Summer

Northern Hemisphere: June-August
Southern Hemisphere: December-February

• Greenery:
  • Grass and foliage are a deep green
  • Bark is a bright brown/tan
  • Weeds are deep green and incorporate dandelion blooms and white flowers
  • Shrubs:
    • Northern hemisphere
    • Southern hemisphere
• Precipitaiton:
  • Rain can fall
  • Occasional thunderstorms occur
    • Rain is at about a 45º angle from the ground
    • Sky is very dark
    • Occasional thunder booming
    • Lightening flashes, flooding the sky and surroundings with bright light for a few seconds
    • Ambient music incorporates a marimba when it rains
    • Rain patters on window panes
• Blue Summer Shells (crafting material) spawn on the beaches
• Green leaves can be seen falling outside the museum's windows by the art wing's entrance

Honorable mentions

• Loading screen island's grass is deep green
• Northern hemisphere only: Fireworks happen every Sunday in August around the Japanese celebration of hanabi taikai 19:00-21:00
• Southern hemisphere only: Fireworks once the ball drops on New Year's Day (after midnight)

Autumn

Northern Hemisphere: September-November
Southern Hemisphere: March-May

• Greenery:
  • Grass and foliage begin to fade to yellow-brown shades
  • Grass sounds crunchier
  • Weeds are brown with grain stalks
  • Trees:
    • The hardwood and fruit trees turn shades of orange and red that are locked to the ground block (so if you dig up a hardwood or fruit tree and swap it with another, it will take on the shade of the tree that was previously there) which dull to brown once the maple leaves finish falling
    • Maple Leaves: 16-25 [NovembeMay]
  • Shrubs:
    • Northern hemisphere only:
    • Southern hemisphere only:
• Precipitation:
  • Rain:
    • Rain can fall but generally isn't very heavy
    • It patters on window panes, umbrellas, etc
    • Player's footsteps splash
    • Ambient music incorporates a marimba
  • Mid/late [NovembeMay]: snow fall starts; the ambient music has sleigh bells incorporated in
• Mushrooms (crafting/cooking material) spawn in [NovembeMay] below trees on and in the ground
• Maple leaves can be seen falling outside the museum's windows by the art wing's entrance

Honorable mentions

• Loading screen island's grass is yellow-green
• Southern hemisphere only: Bunny Day will cause decorated eggs to spawn in the water, on and in trees, from rocks, in balloon gifts, and in the ground for the week before and on the Protestant Christian holiday Easter.

Winter

Northern Hemisphere: December-February
Southern Hemisphere: June-August

• Greenery:
  • Grass and foliage, when visible, are a dull grey-green; when covered in snow and ice, a pale blue-green
  • Bark is a dull grey-brown/tan
  • Weeds are short and a dull green; if the ground is covered in snow, so are they
  • Shrubs
    • Northern hemisphere
    • Southern hemisphere
• Snow:
  • Mid/late [NovembeMay]: snow fall starts
  • 11 [DecembeJune] until early [February/August]:
    • Crunchy snow covering forms on the ground
    • Catchable snowflakes (crafting material) float through the air
    • Sand turns pale
    • Snowballs spawn, which can be rolled into 2-tier snowfolk
    • Snow collects on windowsills and this can be seen from the inside and outside of buildings
  • Mid/late February: Some snow showers without sticking to the ground and without catchable flakes
  • When it snows, the music has sleigh bells incorporated into it
• Aurora Borealis can sometimes be seen on clear nights
• Snow can be seen falling outside the museum's windows by the art wing's entrance

Honorable mentions

• Loading screen island is covered in snow when snow covers the ground
• Northern hemisphere only: Ornaments appear on random cedar trees 16 December-7 January; if a tree is dug up the ornaments are removed from that tree for the rest of the season.
• Northern hemisphere only: Confetti falls from the sky and feathers float through the air on Festivale (two days before the Catholic holiday Ash Wednesday).
• Northern hemisphere only: Fireworks once the ball drops on New Year's Day (after midnight).
• Southern hemisphere only: Fireworks happen every Sunday in August around the Japanese celebration of hanabi taikai 19:00-21:00.

Contributors:

I'd love to start a list of weather events so that if someone didn't know about them, they could find out! I'm not including things that don't affect the environment beyond Town Square (such as Halloween, Turkey Day, and Valentine's Day) or gatherables dependent on weather (such as seasonal recipes or critters).
Weather forecast can be see on in-game TVs the preceding day at 06:14-06:29, 07:45-07:58, and 22:45-22:58. Here is a comparison of foliage in each season.

Year-Round

• Weather-related dialogue from villagers
• Double rainbow after hours of rain, appearing for an hour between 11:00-15:00, starting faint and growing in intensity before fading away again
• Precipitation will cause flowers to spawn the next day
• Sometimes stars shoot across mostly cleaclear skies and may be "wished" upon
• Sometimes there will be a meteor shower (which Isabelle will announce if there isn't anything pressing going on) where many stars shoot across the sky at night and may be wished upon; Celeste will also visit during meteor showers

Spring

Northern Hemisphere: March-May
Southern Hemisphere: September-November

• Greenery:
  • Grass and foliage brightens to a vibrant green as the season progresses
  • Bark is a tannelighter brown
  • Weeds become bright green and incorporate white and purple flowers
  • Sakura/Cherry Blossoms: 1-10 [April/October]
    • Sakura/cherry blossoms bloom on all hardwood trees
    • Catchable petals (crafting material) float through the air
    • Non-catchable petals fill the air and rivers 7-10 [April/October]
    • Hardwood trees' bark is a grey-brown during this time, resembling actual cherry/sakura trees
    • Petals can be seen falling outside the museum's windows by the art wing's entrance
  • Shrubs:
    • Northern Hemisphere:
    • Southern hemisphere
• Rain:
  • Rain can fall but generally isn't very heavy
  • It patters on window panes, umbrellas, etc
  • Player's footsteps splash
  • Ambient music incorporates a marimba
• Besides during sakura/cherry blossom time, green leaves can be seen falling outside the museum's windows by the art wing's entrance

Honorable mentions

• Loading screen island's grass is light green
• Northern hemisphere only: Bunny Day will cause decorated eggs to spawn in the water, on and in trees, from rocks, in balloon gifts, and in the ground for the week before and on the Protestant Christian holiday Easter

Summer

Northern Hemisphere: June-August
Southern Hemisphere: December-February

• Greenery:
  • Grass and foliage are a deep green
  • Bark is a bright brown/tan
  • Weeds are deep green and incorporate dandelion blooms and white flowers
  • Shrubs:
    • Northern hemisphere
    • Southern hemisphere
• Precipitaiton:
  • Rain can fall
  • Occasional thunderstorms occur
    • Rain is at about a 45º angle from the ground
    • Sky is very dark
    • Occasional thunder booming
    • Lightening flashes, flooding the sky and surroundings with bright light for a few seconds
    • Ambient music incorporates a marimba when it rains
    • Rain patters on window panes
• Blue Summer Shells (crafting material) spawn on the beaches
• Green leaves can be seen falling outside the museum's windows by the art wing's entrance

Honorable mentions

• Loading screen island's grass is deep green
• Northern hemisphere only: Fireworks happen every Sunday in August around the Japanese celebration of hanabi taikai 19:00-21:00
• Southern hemisphere only: Fireworks once the ball drops on New Year's Day (after midnight)

Autumn

Northern Hemisphere: September-November
Southern Hemisphere: March-May

• Greenery:
  • Grass and foliage begin to fade to yellow-brown shades
  • Grass sounds crunchier
  • Weeds are brown with grain stalks
  • Trees:
    • The hardwood and fruit trees turn shades of orange and red that are locked to the ground block (so if you dig up a hardwood or fruit tree and swap it with another, it will take on the shade of the tree that was previously there) which dull to brown once the maple leaves finish falling
    • Maple Leaves: 16-25 [NovembeMay]
  • Shrubs:
    • Northern hemisphere only:
    • Southern hemisphere only:
• Precipitation:
  • Rain:
    • Rain can fall but generally isn't very heavy
    • It patters on window panes, umbrellas, etc
    • Player's footsteps splash
    • Ambient music incorporates a marimba
  • Mid/late [NovembeMay]: snow fall starts; the ambient music has sleigh bells incorporated in
• Mushrooms (crafting/cooking material) spawn in [NovembeMay] below trees on and in the ground
• Maple leaves can be seen falling outside the museum's windows by the art wing's entrance

Honorable mentions

• Loading screen island's grass is yellow-green
• Southern hemisphere only: Bunny Day will cause decorated eggs to spawn in the water, on and in trees, from rocks, in balloon gifts, and in the ground for the week before and on the Protestant Christian holiday Easter.

Winter

Northern Hemisphere: December-February
Southern Hemisphere: June-August

• Greenery:
  • Grass and foliage, when visible, are a dull grey-green; when covered in snow and ice, a pale blue-green
  • Bark is a dull grey-brown/tan
  • Weeds are short and a dull green; if the ground is covered in snow, so are they
  • Shrubs
    • Northern hemisphere
    • Southern hemisphere
• Snow:
  • Mid/late [NovembeMay]: snow fall starts
  • 11 [DecembeJune] until early [February/August]:
    • Crunchy snow covering forms on the ground
    • Catchable snowflakes (crafting material) float through the air
    • Sand turns pale
    • Snowballs spawn, which can be rolled into 2-tier snowfolk
    • Snow collects on windowsills and this can be seen from the inside and outside of buildings
  • Mid/late February: Some snow showers without sticking to the ground and without catchable flakes
  • When it snows, the music has sleigh bells incorporated into it
• Aurora Borealis can sometimes be seen on clear nights
• Snow can be seen falling outside the museum's windows by the art wing's entrance

Honorable mentions

• Loading screen island is covered in snow when snow covers the ground
• Northern hemisphere only: Ornaments appear on random cedar trees 16 December-7 January; if a tree is dug up the ornaments are removed from that tree for the rest of the season.
• Northern hemisphere only: Confetti falls from the sky and feathers float through the air on Festivale (two days before the Catholic holiday Ash Wednesday).
• Northern hemisphere only: Fireworks once the ball drops on New Year's Day (after midnight).
• Southern hemisphere only: Fireworks happen every Sunday in August around the Japanese celebration of hanabi taikai 19:00-21:00.

Contributors:

If so, I'll add you to my friends list! I want a P-2 Kemari so bad but I don't have any of those fruits! Can you guys help?

Tomorrow is Mother's Day but my mom wanted to open a present early. My sister got her a perfume that she's wanted for a while while I got her a glass cup that says "Best Mom" on it. My mom was super happy when she got my sister's present and used it right away, while she just smiled and said thank you to me. She put my present on top of the mantle of the fire place. I asked her "Aren't you going to use it?" She said "No, I want to leave it here so it won't break." It broke my heart into a million pieces because this isn't the first time she's done this. She did it at Christmas this past year. I bought her a Harry Potter ornament for the Christmas Tree because she's a huge fan of Harry Potter but she just put it on top of the fireplace mantle. I spent so much money for something for her to use but she just leaves it there. I don't understand. Now I really don't want to celebrate Mother's Day

You know that unsettling feeling you sometimes get when you're home alone? That sudden shiver that races up your spine, making your skin crawl even when you know you're the only one there? It's the kind of feeling that makes you hesitate to cross that dark hallway in your house, your mind playing tricks on you, warning of unseen dangers lurking in the shadows of the place you call home.
​
I never knew my parents. My grandmother was the only constant presence in my life, a tough woman hardened by years of hard work and the harsh climate of Krasnoyarsk. She, like many women of her time, toiled in one of the area's numerous metallurgical factories. Though she wasn't always around, she cared for me as best she could, even if her love often came with a stern demeanor. With two mouths to feed, she often had to leave me in the care of our neighbors for long stretches of time, often returning only to sleep at home.
Our neighborhood was composed mostly of factory workers and their families, who lived in small huts that offered little relief from the cold. Our own house was no exception. Tucked away on the edge of the community, it was a modest shack of barely 50 square meters. Inside, the walls were painted a weathered yellow, while the floor was covered with wooden planks. Curiously, the exterior was camouflaged by logs, attempting to conceal the concrete beneath. The house wasn't that much by itself, but the patches of trees that surrounded the house left a clear area where the house sat, making it feel like it didn't belong to the city.
My grandmother had a peculiar taste in decorating. The outside of our house was adorned with a variety of ornaments and bird sculptures, painted in bright colors. When she decided on a particular decoration, she refused to change it, no matter what. Inside, the walls were adorned with framed photos of unfamiliar faces, intercalated with portraits of unfamiliar people. My grandmother had a habit of collecting these photos and scattering them around the house in a seemingly random fashion. She also had a habit of rearranging furniture every few weeks, which left me perplexed and curious as to her motivations.
Whenever I asked her about her frequent rearrangements, her expression would turn somber, silencing any further questions. It was an unspoken rule in our household: certain questions were best left unanswered.
Sometimes my grandmother had no choice but to leave me home alone, mainly because Anna, the neighbor who usually took care of me, couldn't, either for medical or personal reasons. On those days, she would come home from work earlier than usual and seem more exhausted than ever. However, there was a subtle sense of relief in her eyes when I was there, as if she feared something was going to happen to me during those brief hours of solitude. But the worst days were those when my grandmother was not able to get home before sunset; those days were the ones I dreaded the most.
During the day, the small forest surrounding our house was my playground, sometimes even losing track of time until the sun began to set. But when it got dark, the trees would transform into menacing shadows that would cast themselves over the house.
Sometimes, when I closed the curtains, an unsettling feeling would come over me: I felt I was being watched by invisible eyes. On rare occasions, I would summon the courage to peek outside and see two piercing white orbs fixed to the house. Hastily, I would close the window and crawl into bed, burying myself under the covers and shivering with fear. Struggeling to stay awake, terrified at the thought of the murmurs returning, pearcing through the walls while the presence lurked on the other side of my window, in the distance.
Most nights, exhaustion would get the better of me, and I would fall asleep. Whenever I woke up, usually in the morning, the sound of wood scraping against the floor would signal that my grandmother was moving the furniture around.
Shuted in my room until she was done, listening to the eerie symphony of the wood slowly and leisurely creeping against each other while I waited for her approval to leave the room.
During those days when I was confined to my room until my grandmother finished rearranging the furniture, she always seemed to be in a hurry, almost frantic, to get us out of the house. She would quickly hand me over to our neighbor, Anna, and leave me in her care until the next day, appearing extremely tired.
Normal days were spent playing with two of the neighbor kids, Pavel and Varina.
Pavel was one of the few kids I played with when I was little. He never let the stories that were told about our house and my grandmother be a problem for us to become friends. We met playing one day like any other day on the back of the river that crosses the back of our neighborhood. We started a competition to see who was able to roll a stone over the water the most times. We spent hours running up and down, looking at all the possible stones to find the perfect ones that would lead us to victory against each other. I lost the competition that day, but I got the best friendship I could have wished for.
We met Varinka two years later. Her parents moved to our neighborhood from another nearby city because they got an offer in one of the factories. The one that started talking to her was Pavel, being the sociable child that he was. Both of them became close friends almost immediately. Soon after, I followed Pavel's steps and befriended her.
On the days that I spent with Anna, the three of us used to go on our own little adventures that were restricted to meal and snack times, and you must believe that we squeezed out as much time as possible. Our usual routine used to be to build hideouts, climb trees, and play hide and seek in the small forest that wrapped my house.
Pavel, Varinka, and I had multiple spots with small hideouts that barely resisted a day or two because of the poor choice of materials that we built them with, but still, there were two that held the most: the tree house and the cave.
The Tree House was the closest one to my house; it consisted of a dead tree that was hollow inside. It was quite small, and the only things that we kept inside the tree house were some rocks that we used as chairs and a big piece of wood that we used as a table. The area that surrounded the tree house was quite dense with poor sunlight because of the multiple trees that grew there. Because of the many days we spent there playing, a path was created because of our footsteps, making a small path to the west part of my house. While the tree house was a five-minute walk through the forest, the cave was further inside the forest. As the name foreshadowed, the cave was a hole besides a small hill. The cave wasn't much bigger than the tree, but the fact that it was a cave made our minds think that it was for some reason cooler than the tree house. There was the place that we used to hang out the most whenever we got the chance to go to the forest. The cave was decorated inside as much as a child could. We took some chairs that Pavel found in the dumpster while Varinka brought some flowers from her garden, and meanwhile, I brought a small bird feeder that my grandmother recently changed for a newer one.
Those were the happiest memories that I could remember—those times when we could play freely without anything that could worry us—but sadly, those days weren't meant to last forever.
One day that Anna left me to go to the forest. As usual, Pavel, Varinka, and I met at the river as always, walking while following the water flow towards the forest. We chatted about some nonsens that Pavel used to bring out, laughing, and we walked in the forest, following the small path that we used to go in and out of the forest from the side of the river.
As we moved deeper into the forest, an uneasy feeling came over us, overshadowing our carefree chatter. The familiar sights and sounds of the forest seemed different that day, as if the trees themselves were whispering warnings we couldn't decipher.
Pavel, Varinka, and I followed the beaten path, our footsteps echoing in the silent forest. But as we approached the clearing where our hideout awaited us, an eerie silence descended, suffocating the once vibrant atmosphere. The air grew heavy with anticipation. An unspoken tension hung over us like a shroud.
Arriving at the Tree House, we found it shrouded in darkness and its hollow trunk in eerie silence. The rocks that had served as our seats lay scattered on the forest floor, as if they had been abandoned. Even the dense treetops seemed to retain their usual warmth, casting long shadows that stretched out like accusing fingers.
With a nervous glance between us, we continued on, our steps faltering as we approached the cave. But as we drew closer, we realized that the entrance was blocked by fallen debris, as if it had been sealed shut by some unseen force.
A chill ran down my spine as I exchanged glances with Pavel and Varinka. What had once been our sanctuary now looked as if an earthquake would have knocked down the entrance.
As the first tendrils of fear coiled in our hearts, a distant sound echoed—a sound that sent a shiver down my spine.
It was a faint whimper, barely louder than the sound of leaves against the wind, but loud enough to startle us all.
Varinka, frightened, stood motionless, with a desperate look that stopped at nothing in particular, trying to see where such a chilling sound could come from. When I saw Pavel, he was standing before Varinka, holding a stone that he must have picked up from the pile he was standing on whileI was looking at the entrance to the cave, and then... Something started to flow through the rocks
It was a strange liquid that had a carmesi tone that seemed to glow in the shadows—a liquid that appeared to have no visible limits and seemed to come out of nowhere.
I didn't notice how much time I spent looking at the red liquid flowing through the rocks when I noticed something; whatever thing was wimpering, it wasn't outside with us. It was inside the cave.
I didn't know what to do. Varinka was already running back to her house while Pavel was frozen in the same position as he was, looking at the entrance of the cave, but his face didn't seem scared or shocked anymore; instead, his face seemed like he was hypnotized. He took a step towards the cave.
When I realized what I was going to do, I rushed at him, gripping him by the shoulder and shaking him, trying to shake him out of his trance. After a few seconds, Pavel looked around in confusion as the faint whimpers continued to sound behind the rubble, increasingly agonizing but whimpering with the same intensity.
When Pavel finally looked at me, the first thing he said was, “Where is Varinka?”, “She's gone already,” I replied frantically, trying to get him to start moving. Hearing me,he dropped the stone, which splashed some of the strange crimson liquid on our shoes, and ran towards the forest path, While I followed closely behind him, the whimper of the thing could still be heard behind us.
After not much time, we arrived at the river where Varinka was sobbing, catching her breath, i turned to see how Pavel was doing, i saw him with an absorbed look, watching closely the trees, almost as if something was talking to him.
That night was one of the worst that I have experienced. When my grandmother came home that night, she noticed that something was wrong at the moment that she saw me.
"What happened?" she asked with an expression that I had never seen before in her face; it seemed to be a mix of seriousness and worry.
I told her about how we had found our hideouts destroyed, the whimper, and the strange substance. Without wating any longer, she almost jumped and started to search frantically in some drawers, taking out some kind of cross that I had never seen before. It seemed similar to the catoloc corss, but in the lower part it was split in half, making it seem like two wooden legs. On all of the surface, different carvings were made; some of them seemed Russian, some of them were Nordic, some of them were Latin, and a bunch of them I can't even recognize today.
She left the cross in the middle of the house and then rushed towards the kitchen, grabbing all the meat that we had on the house and throwing it out. I looked at her with a mix of perplexity and worry, as I didn't understand what she was doing.
She took me to the bathroom and started to bathe me, scrubbing my whole body almost as if she were trying to clean out a stain from a new piece of cloth. When she was done, I noticed that my skin was red because of the rubbing.
When she was done with me, she took the same ritual with the rest of the house, opening every window, the door, and the cabinets and scrubbing them. I didn't understand what was going on; the house was almost completely dark; only the light from the lamps that we had and the full moon could be seen in the sky; the air was cold; and I was still wet from the bath.
She finished with the house and started to do the same to herself, scrubbing her skin until it became red. The sound of her breathing and the scrubbing was the only thing that could be heard; the forest was in absolute silence.
She finished, and looked at me.
"Now, let's pray," she said with a calm voice, almost too calm, as if her previous panic was never there.
We kneeled beside the strange cross and began to pray; the windows and door were still open at this point. Something could be heard outside.
As the first words started to come out of our mouths, the whimper appeared softly, as if trying to not make us notice his presence. Word after word, it grew persistent.
The moon, covered by a thin layer of clouds, enveloped our home with eerie shadows. Our prayers grew in intensity, trying to match the whimper as if we were trying to cover it with our own voice. Then, suddenly, nothing. I didn't feel cold or warmth; I didn't feel my hand brushing against my grandmother's hand; the numbness in my knees from kneeling; the cold of the night against my skin; just the whimpering, weak, almost pleasant and sweet, like a mother's call or like the sun against your skin on a spring evening. I wanted to answer him, to go to him, to let myself go.
A pull.
When I came to my senses, I was on the porch. As I looked around frantically, I saw my grandmother pulling me, with a terror I could never have imagined to have seen on her face. Then I looked to where her gaze was fixed. Slowly, as I gazed through those bird ornamentations that I had become so used to seeing, I looked towards the trees. Orbs—dozens, no, hundreds of them looking at us.
I rushed inside in an instant catching my grandmother by surprise, stuttering she kept praying, leaving the door still open, once again, we knelt, over the next few hours it tried to pull me back to him countless times, I was about to give in again on a couple of occasions but the horror on my grandmother's face anchored me to the ground in front of the cross, at one point in time the night began to fade, leaving behind its shadows and with it those observant orbs, waiting for a mistake to jump towards us, changing it’s place with a tenuous golden light, which with its arrival marked the end of the nightmare of that night, with the whimpering becoming weaker and weaker my eyes closed with exhaustion, letting me drift off into a peaceful sleep.
Knocks woke me up a few hours later; it seemed frantic. I was in bed in my pajamas, disoriented by the events of the previous night. I stood up suddenly, my heart pounding against my chest at the sudden knocking on the front door. I got up to see who was banging on the front door.
“Yakov!” Someone screamed on the other side of the door with an anguished voice. “Yakov, please open the door.”
I ran towards the door, opening it as I recognized the voice on the other side; it was the voice of Anna.
“What-what happened, Anna?” In a scared tone, I was able to ask her.
It was an unusual situation; Anna didn’t like to get to close to my house, so seeing her here on the porch was something that I didn’t expect at all.
“Pavel…” She was able to tell, under a sigh, “Pavel is lost.”
My world started to shatter as Anna was able to say those words. She continued talking, asking me questions frantically, but my mind wasn’t there.
“Do you know where he is? Did he by any chance go to your house the last night?” Ana said.
"Whimpers,” I thought out loud. Anna tried to speak, “Wha-.”
Before she could even finish what she was saying, I started to run, barefoot. I ran faster than I even imagined that I could; the adrenalin pumping in my veins kept the pain away from my feet. I ran. I really ran. As fast as I could, I really tried.
When I arrived at the cave, it was too late; the carmesi substance was only touching the stones, almost as if avoiding the ground. Once I looked up, I saw an entrance; for some reason, a hole could be seen in the middle of the debris.
“Pavel!” I cried out, my voice trembling with fear and desperation, but there was no response. I tried to move the fallen debris that was blocking the entrance with trembling hands, but it was too heavy and firmly wedged in place.
Tears began to fall as I realized the horrifying truth: Pavel was trapped inside the cave, cut off from the outside world by a rubble wall. Panic gripped my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs as I struggled to make sense of the situation.
My mind raced with a thousand thoughts and fears, each one more terrifying than the last. What if Pavel was hurt? What if he was alone and scared? What if... he wasn’t alone?
With trembling limbs, I tried to force my way into the cave, clawing at the rocks with desperate urgency. But no matter how hard I tried, the debris refused to budge, despite my desperate efforts.
Time seemed to stretch into eternity as I stood there, helpless and alone, with the sound of my own heartbeat echoing in my ears. The forest around me was silent, as if it were waiting for the unthinkable.
And then, from deep within the cave, I heard it: a faint whimper, barely audible above my own heartbeat. It was Pavel's voice, weak and muffled, but unmistakably him.
“Pavel, oh god, i-i’m here!” I called out to him, my voice breaking with terror, but there was no answer.
I realized with a sinking feeling in my stomach that Pavel was out of reach, trapped in a prison of stone and darkness with whatever called him to enter the cave. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I collapsed on the ground, overcome by grief and despair. The weight of the situation pressed down on me like a physical force, crushing me under its unbearable weight. In that moment, I felt completely alone, like a small, insignificant speck in the vastness of the universe. And as I gazed up at the sky, my vision blurred with tears. I couldn't help but wonder if anyone would ever find Pavel or if anyone would ever know what had happened to him.
But deep down, I knew the truth: Pavel was lost, swallowed up by the darkness of the cave, trapped with the thing that whimpered, and there was nothing I could do to save him. And as I sat there, alone in the forest, I saw the last stones being pulled by the strange carmesi liquid, loking them in their final place, and with them silencing Pavel to the outside world.