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Soon enough, in less than a week, a big wind will take off all the leaves, and we're left with the gray sticks and gray skies of November. My least-favorite month. Thomas Hood said it best.
I prefer Gordon Lightfoot to Thomas Hood:"Superior, they said,never gives up her deadwhen the gales of November come ER-LEE!"Free associating. Sorry.
So time change is coming also, which reminds me of this joke:First guy visits a friend who is dyslexic.His friend is applying black shoe dye to his penis.First guy says "You idiot, I said make sure to turn your clock back".
Who's that grumpy cat.
Aaaaggghhh...I watched that 2nd pic for a minute waiting for the Chips Ahoy animation to burst out. Then I checked the tags and didn't see his name. Laughing at self. Oops.
FYI for Althouse readers. The story of the volleyball player who was just picking up a friend who was drinking, fell apart. The locals are perplex why the national media turned the student into a hero. Other party goers and their parents are upset. The local news has the court records with the case. Some parts are not available because she is a minor. http://valleypatriot.com/erin-cox-mom-daughter-was-at-drinking-party-nearly-30-minutes-claims-punished-based-on-sex-in-restraining-order-request/
Pictures?In that first photo is Meade using his cleverly concealed Fly Cam?
The man is a legend, a god among those of us in the OGLFL community
Althouse, looking very fit! If I may say.
Two Sonnets for FallISo after summer, autumn makes a feintTo still an afternoon of naked treesWith tensile strength. It only fools the saint –For we have felt the elemental breezeThat captivates the stripping act of leaves –The ballets twirl in a furious mess.From limbs to trunk to crotch, the plumage heavesIts skirts like virgins dropping out of dress.Upon the wind, the equinox enjoysThe sagging spheres of music. Perfect curvesAre tilting earthward, baring shoulders – toysOf sun and shade. The failing daylight starvesToward solstice – leaves the hungry eye no choiceBut feasting on the famine it deserves. IIThe ghostly glare of autumn sun absolvesThe shades that stalk the woods. An arbor screenOf leaves, like open paws of light, involvesThe forest scene in flames of aging greenEngulfing virgin dark – where sunlight standsThe thought of emptiness – where grave and groveReside as each within the other’s hands,And thistles voided by wind find loveIn endless motion: maple whirlybirdsAre taking wing and glitter through the airLike dragon scales. The air is full of wordsThat swell the streaming gulch with thoughts of fire.At dusk, the season labors hard; it drawsA breath, and catkins tumble from its claws.
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