October 28, 2013

At the Autumn Café...


... don't forget to look up. But watch out for the troll:


He might be taking pictures:





Meade said...

TROLL? I like to think of myself more as a navigator. I'm here to help you find your way through AlthouseCare.
Sorry but this might take a while.
Please pardon our dust.

MadisonMan said...

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.

Jman said...

I prefer Gordon Lightfoot to Thomas Hood:

"Superior, they said,
never gives up her dead
when the gales of November come ER-LEE!"

Free associating. Sorry.

Larry Nelson said...

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".

Carol said...

Who's that grumpy cat.

TML said...

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.

Renee said...

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.


David said...


In that first photo is Meade using his cleverly concealed Fly Cam?

Mick Havoc said...

The man is a legend, a god among those of us in the OGLFL community

JoyD said...

Althouse, looking very fit! If I may say.

JOB said...

Two Sonnets for Fall

So after summer, autumn makes a feint
To still an afternoon of naked trees
With tensile strength. It only fools the saint –
For we have felt the elemental breeze
That captivates the stripping act of leaves –
The ballets twirl in a furious mess.
From limbs to trunk to crotch, the plumage heaves
Its skirts like virgins dropping out of dress.
Upon the wind, the equinox enjoys
The sagging spheres of music. Perfect curves
Are tilting earthward, baring shoulders – toys
Of sun and shade. The failing daylight starves
Toward solstice – leaves the hungry eye no choice
But feasting on the famine it deserves.

The ghostly glare of autumn sun absolves
The shades that stalk the woods. An arbor screen
Of leaves, like open paws of light, involves
The forest scene in flames of aging green
Engulfing virgin dark – where sunlight stands
The thought of emptiness – where grave and grove
Reside as each within the other’s hands,
And thistles voided by wind find love
In endless motion: maple whirlybirds
Are taking wing and glitter through the air
Like dragon scales. The air is full of words
That swell the streaming gulch with thoughts of fire.
At dusk, the season labors hard; it draws
A breath, and catkins tumble from its claws.