Discussion Topic |
|
This thread has been locked |
Cancer Boy
Trad climber
Freedonia
|
|
|
Feb 12, 2016 - 12:39am PT
|
Out walking in the frozen swamp one gray day,
I paused and said, 'I will turn back from here.
No, I will go on farther—and we shall see.'
The hard snow held me, save where now and then
One foot went through. The view was all in lines
Straight up and down of tall slim trees
Too much alike to mark or name a place by
So as to say for certain I was here
Or somewhere else: I was just far from home.
A small bird flew before me. He was careful
To put a tree between us when he lighted,
And say no word to tell me who he was
Who was so foolish as to think what he thought.
He thought that I was after him for a feather—
The white one in his tail; like one who takes
Everything said as personal to himself.
One flight out sideways would have undeceived him.
And then there was a pile of wood for which
I forgot him and let his little fear
Carry him off the way I might have gone,
Without so much as wishing him good-night.
He went behind it to make his last stand.
It was a cord of maple, cut and split
And piled—and measured, four by four by eight.
And not another like it could I see.
No runner tracks in this year's snow looped near it.
And it was older sure than this year's cutting,
Or even last year's or the year's before.
The wood was gray and the bark warping off it
And the pile somewhat sunken. Clematis
Had wound strings round and round it like a bundle.
What held it though on one side was a tree
Still growing, and on one a stake and prop,
These latter about to fall. I thought that only
Someone who lived in turning to fresh tasks
Could so forget his handiwork on which
He spent himself, the labor of his ax,
And leave it there far from a useful fireplace
To warm the frozen swamp as best it could
With the slow smokeless burning of decay.
Frost - The Wood-Pile
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
|
Feb 12, 2016 - 02:40pm PT
|
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
|
Feb 15, 2016 - 07:18pm PT
|
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
|
Feb 17, 2016 - 08:39pm PT
|
|
|
hooblie
climber
from out where the anecdotes roam
|
|
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
Can you guess what I did and where I went this afternoon?
Lotta methane out there today, and CO as well.
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
North Shore Mono Lake.
|
|
survival
Big Wall climber
Terrapin Station
|
|
|
Topic Author's Reply - Mar 5, 2016 - 04:53pm PT
|
Aww, you guys continue to bring the goods!!
Well done!!
|
|
walt
climber
Kirkwood, CA
|
|
|
Mar 20, 2016 - 03:47pm PT
|
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
|
Mar 21, 2016 - 11:32pm PT
|
|
|
hooblie
climber
from out where the anecdotes roam
|
|
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
Hwy. 41 revisited
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
Early December in the Mother Lode.
Hwy. 49 south of Mariposa town
Just off of Hwy. 49 in Bootjack
"Where in the hell is Bootjack?" is a popular local bumper sticker.
South and east of Mariposa town is the easy answer.
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
Maybe we'll try this again someday, hooblie!
|
|
hooblie
climber
from out where the anecdotes roam
|
|
ya, maybe they'll let us in the front door next time since we did all those dishes so good
|
|
mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
|
|
|
Apr 10, 2016 - 09:18am PT
|
There is some doubt in what's left of my mind
Of how purty things are when they have declined
All is subject to decay eventually.
Most decadence is okay to somebody.
But others may just see a horror show.
This photo would look like quite a prize to a painting contractor, for example.
This is a sodden clump of jasmine blossoms.
These reminded me of TP that's been in the sewer for a bit.
In fact, just up the alley, right under my window, IN FACT, there is [are] a couple of really wet globs of TP coming out of a sewage line that has been giving the management of the building across the alley stoned fits.
Anyhow, the point is that just because something decaying turns you off it doesn't follow that it turns everyone off.
Those eggs they eat in the PI, for instance, called balut.
Now that may gross me out, but Miguel and his family LOVE them.
|
|
hooblie
climber
from out where the anecdotes roam
|
|
|
Apr 10, 2016 - 07:47pm PT
|
|
|
|
SuperTopo on the Web
|
Let us know!