November 12, 2019

Fire circle.



wildswan said...

In the bleak midwinter, Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter

stevew said...

Gray and white, perhaps a little blue, nothing bright or vibrant. You can feel the chill, the cold in that image. We had a wee bit of snow today. Cold and raw, perfectly fit my mood.

I love this time of year.

Iman said...

A fantastic photo, as always!

Meade said...

Nice, but more like the bleak late summer. The freaky bleaky late summer. Even early winter is a whole other moon from now. It’s a downright impeachable offense I tells you!

J. Farmer said...

Peter Hitchens in my recommended today. I guess Google's algorithm read my comments.

I was nine years old the first time I saw snow. My father took a boat from Tampa Bay to New York Harbor. It was quite an adventure.

Original Mike said...

Looks like a fire is in order.

Ingachuck'stoothlessARM said...

imagine Prometheus and Frankenstein having a 'robust debate' there

mccullough said...

The Early Winter Cafe

traditionalguy said...

These are the days that freeze men's souls. Where has Global Warmng gone when we need it?

Wisconsin seems overcast all day lately. So let me give you hope. The sun was extra bright today and there is a full blue moon tonight that keeps on shining.

narciso said...

Drago said...

Anybody paying attention to what the lunatic left/libs in Britain are now claiming?

Tell me if you've already heard this one before......

According to Christopher Steele (yes, THAT one), the following is true:

1) The Russians have been cultivating Boris Johnson as an agent since perhaps 1977(!) and certainly for the last 5 years
2) Boris Johnson has been acting as Putin's helper for those years
3) The Russians and their "sophisticated" bots were responsible for the pro-Brexit vote in 2016
4) The Russians are already interfering in the 2019 general election scheduled for December
5) The Russians are trying to hack Labour servers!!!!

Yes, the left/libs/dems/Labour/whatever, regardless of where you find them in the West, have one script that they are all working off of and they are unable to do anything differently.

Something tells me when Johnson wins a conservative majority in December that the British lefties will employ all the Lawfare they can with their establishment pals (Bercow redux, british courts, House of Lords shenanigans, etc) to overturn that election as well.

We are seeing this all over the West. It's what the EU/European establishment did to Denmark and Italy etc and they are just going to keep on voting out "the people" to keep their corrupt practices and schemes in place.

narciso said...

But the lifelong trotskyite is all goodright.

Limited Perspective said...

Bear hunting season in California is in the winter. It's a miserable camp in the mountains, at least for me. Some of guys really enjoyed it. I haven't gone in thirty years.

hawkeyedjb said...

Bye-ku for Mark Sanford:

That Mark Sanford guy
Did you know he was trying
To be president?

Bay Area Guy said...

Goodbye to Sanford
A Gamecock he could not be
More like a LameCock

Ingachuck'stoothlessARM said...

what can you do for an itchy chalupa??

There are endless intersections between the Trump-Russia collusion hoax and Ukrainegate—same journalists, same fabricated evidence, same impeachment grist, and same plotters, including Adam Schiff. But the end game is the same: Obscure the actual foreign interference in an American election.

Unknown said...

The Cremation of Sam McGee
By Robert W. Service

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell."

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursèd cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead—it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."

Unknown said...

A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snowsâ O God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May."
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roaredâsuch a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and stormâ
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

narciso said...

walter said...

How is it that I can't find an Adam Schiff bobblehead for sale via google?
Tell me it ain't so.

walter said...

Btw, Schiff is working mighty hard for a guvmint worker.

Yancey Ward said...

We got our first snow this past morning in Oak Ridge TN, and just three days since the first frost of the season. Hard freeze tonight, though- upper teens.

Yancey Ward said...

Walter, it is illegal to violate the patent on the Schiff Bobble Head- the original is the only one allowed.

wholelottasplainin' said...


You own this, Althouse. These are your peeps.


Mr. Forward said...

You catch yourself almost hoping
They get a taste of what they wish for
Four years of screeching harpies
And sad sack socialism
Then a return to sanity.
But as Thelma told Louise
There's no going back.

rehajm said...

Spoiler alert! If you’re considering Apple TV+ you can skip it unless you like to count how many leftie political memes they can pack into one astronaut show. Women’s equality means dumping on the men, stereotypical immigrants scrape and scrounge to help their daughter watch the launch. Which female astronauts are the lesbians? Gay guy has to play the beard so they don’t get caught.

That’s just episode three.

It only took two episodes for Emily Dickinson to get finger fucked by her future sister in law. Based on the soundtrack that one’s for the middle school girls...

Mr. Majestyk said...

Looks like the comments were infested with poetry. I just scroll past it all.

tcrosse said...

It's Meadehenge.

Howard said...

The yin-yang of the erect fire pit Stone and the yielding thighs of the big tree makes a stimulating design.

gerry said...

Are those pieces of wood prepped to emit carbon dioxide into the atmosphere?


And an outrage.

MadisonMan said...

Frozen in the snow lie roses, sleeping,
Flowers that will echo the sunrise.

Unknown said...

Just remember in the winter, far beneath the bitter snows
Lies the seed, that with the sun's love in the spring becomes the rose,

Freeman Hunt said...

"More than seventy-five trombones" is still making me laugh.