#in the shadow of the apennines

[monstrousgourmandizingcats]

🏝 ❤️

🏝 Share your favorite description of a setting.

The bus into the hinterlands, when they finally found it, took them deep into the foothills of the southern Apennines, a part of Italy that Emily recognised from a disaster relief effort much like that currently going on in Providence. She had taken part in that effort shortly after her relocation to Europe a few years (or about a decade, as it was to her) before. There were more buses after that, and it took quite a while to get to their last stop. The convent was on the edge of the town where they were finally dropped off, and so they walked, under Mezzogiorno sun, sweating something awful as they trudged up a gentle but very long incline covered with rosemary, buckthorn, and broom. They reached the convent doors at last in the golden part of the early evening, when the broom where their long shadows fell on it flitted black and gold in the corners of their eyes. A woman who looked to be a door-ward of some kind came out to meet them and to assess them. Emily stepped forward.

❤️ Share one of your favorite lines.

The above is also one of my favorite paragraphs in this WIP.

Ask Game: WIP Excerpts

[adarede]

wikipedia pages i have looked at recently

(since my browser history cuts off after 3 months)

feudalism

sark

guernsey

jersey

sercquiais

LGBT slang

list of pejorative terms for people

micronation

miso

declaration of war

sophie ellis-bextor

strictly come dancing (series 11)

the weather girls

it's raining men

leg shaving

craig charles

radclyffe hall

cicely mary barker

apennine mountains

gypsy horse

list of crossings of the atlantic ocean

titanic

scullery

dutch elm disease

pince nez

boston marriage

lutheranism

monocle

howards end

list of countries and dependencies by population

academic ranks in the united kingdom

mafia

bad bunny

amber alert

hue and cry

charabanc

list of feminists

skibidi toilet

dj snake

milan kundera

christmas market

darcey bussell

self esteem (musician)

roger eno

squeegee man

crossing sweeper

ramen

housewife

stay-at-home parent

Sally Clark

SIDS

Rabies

catacombs of paris

beaufort scale

religiosity and intelligence

korean variety show

variety show

osbournes reloaded

pine barrens

environment of united states

a walk in the woods (book)

terminal velocity

muzzle velocity

dehumidifier

withnail and i

vivian mackerrell

bruce robinson

2017-18 australian parliamentary eligibility crisis

orlando: a biography

medically unexplained physical symptoms

gulf war syndrome

list of paradoxes

opposite day

cascadia (bioregion)

appalachia

beano (dietary supplement)

idaho

ghost rockets

list of billboard hot 100 number one singles of the 2010s

list of uk singles chart number ones of the 2010s

list of most viewed youtube videos

cardiac tamponade

the spook light

will o' the wisp

atmospheric ghost lights

ball lightening

brown mountain lights

st elmo's fire

poltergeist

shadow person

estimates of historical world population

chin

dan and phil

east west rail

african cuisine

ornimegalonyx

marital rape

bras d'honneur

list of songs by taylor swift

dwarf elephant

bone china

ivory

wrangel island

mammoth

african elephant

last glacial maximum

ground sloth

3D film

nigella lawson

prehistory of australia

mastodon

paleoloxodon

borneo elephant

straight tusked elephant

hyrax

north african elephant

zoetrope

O holy night

containerization

shakira

list of antidepressants

list of poker hands

victoria coren mitchell

bikini

evergreen A-class container ship

i had a little nut tree

gunge

houses in multiple occupation

pedestrian crossings in the united kingdom

belisha beacon

coca-cola formula

demographics of south america

wasabi

flashed face distortion effect

aella (influencer)

temperate rainforest

caledonian forest

loch lomond

bigfoot

jedi census phenomenon

timeline of meteorology

centralia, pennsylvania

jersey devil

ozarks

crawler

blue hole (new jersey)

quantum suicide and immortality

the hum

skyquake

tubal ligation

glycerol

air source heat pump

list of current knights and ladies of the garter

list of prime ministers of the united kingdom

CP Snow

calabash

gourd

apocolocyntosis

[mi4014-roishutton]

3 of 3

3 Artists

Tin Can Forest

Lauren Marx

Hannah Flowers

3 Designers

Iris Van Herpen

Ace of Shades

Apennine Colussus

3 Writers

Madeline Miller - The Song of Achilles

“In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.”

Hozier

"If I was born as a blackthorn tree I'd wanna be felled by you Held by you Fuel the pyre of your enemies"

Albert Camus

“In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.”

[memory-mortis]

bro! me yearn for soft bruno. howabout early morning leisure w/ mr bowlcut?

Early morning leisure with Mr Bowlcut coming right up! I went super sweet with this one, make sure you brush your teeth, because it’s tooth rotting!

Summertime Joy

WC: 1k TW: none

Gentle sunlight poured into the room through the cracks in the window shutters. As your consciousness faded in and you stirred underneath the warm fluffy blanket, you awoke to the sounds of waves crashing over the sandy beach outside. You patted the spot on the bed next to you, trying to find the sleeping body of your lover, but much to your dismay, you found nothing but an empty bed. You groaned softly in annoyance at the lack of your boyfriend’s warm embrace. The two of you went to bed together, so why couldn’t you get out of bed together as well?

You rubbed your eyes and looked around the room. Stray dust particles appeared in the golden rays, only to vanish again in the shadow of the blue wooden shutters. The air was still warm and filled with a sleepy atmosphere, urging you to stay in bed, whispering sweet words of just 5 more minutes of sleep. Yet, you persevered and lay awake and once you gathered enough willpower to sit up, you stretched every inch of your body, shaking off even more drowsiness. Taking a quick look into the full length mirror that stood next to your old wardrobe whose white paint was starting to chip off, you fixed your hair a little, just enough not to scare Bruno first thing in the morning. It would be a disaster if he mistook you for an enemy. Sticky Fingers was adorable, but you definitely prefered to stay on his good side. 

And finally, with a deep breath, you clutched the doorknob in your hand, turned it and opened the door leading to the other part of your little seaside house, composed of a small living room, a kitchen and a sliding door leading to the front porch. You’d bought the house just a few weeks ago so you didn’t have much time to decorate, but dumb little ornaments such as a statuette of a ship and some handed-down paintings of the open sea already hung on the white interior walls.

With his back turned to you, Bruno busied himself with preparing breakfast and coffee as italian music (which you didn’t care enough to identify) played from the tiny old radio standing on the dining table. It came with the house, actually, you recalled the previous owner saying that it had been there since the second world war. You guessed your grandfather was right when he told you how modern appliances were much easier to break than the good old ones. On second thought, maybe the old mechanisms were just easier to fix.

You lingered in the door frame for a moment, leaning against the wall and watching your lover struggle to mix batter. When he looked to the side, you noticed some flour stuck to his cheek and let out a small huff of amusement. With just a few quiet steps you were behind Bruno, wrapped your arms around him and pressed your face into his back, breathing in his scent. His muscles shifted underneath his t-shirt with each movement.

“Good morning, gioia,” he greeted you and took your hand to press a kiss against its back. You mumbled something similar to ‘good morning’, but it came out more as a muffled slur of words. After a few seconds you finally pulled your face away from him and looked over his shoulder.

“You’re doing it wrong,” you informed him and he responded with a surprised oh? You placed your hand over his that was holding the whisk and started mixing the batter within the bowl in a different motion. “You have to do it like this, this way you won’t put too much strain on your wrist.”

“Like this?” he repeated when you took your hands away. “Yeah, just like that!” you reassured him and reached up to wipe away the flour on his face.

“Amore, why don’t you take the cups of coffee outside? I should be done with these pancakes soon.”

“Oh, breakfast outside? How romantic,” you snickered and Bruno patted your ass playfully. You exited the kitchen with a giggle.

As you placed the cups on the round table on the front porch, you looked off into the distance, watched how the waves rose and fell. It was only a little past 8, but the sun rose early in the summer so it wasn’t all that cold anymore. Seagulls flew along the coastline and gathered in groups on various spots in the sand, picking away at seashells and stranded seaweed in hopes of finding something to eat. On the opposite of the ocean far off in the distance stood the massive Apennine mountains, their peak hidden by the clouds. And here you were, in the middle of this great Italian scenery, far away from the prying eyes of the public. It was perfect for you and Bruno, one of the capos of Passione.

You breathed in the salty air and walked over to the flowers hanging over the wooden rail. They were in full bloom, blossoms of many colors and shapes.

“Did Giorno make these?” you called, hoping that Bruno would hear you over the sound of frying pancakes. When he didn’t answer your question, you turned around, only to catch him walking towards you with two plates of pancakes decorated with berries and syrup.

“He did,” he finally responded while putting the food down. He then walked over to you and pulled you closer. “Do you like them?”

“They’re gorgeous,” you smiled.

“Mm,” he hummed, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I think I still prefer you over them,” he flirted and you giggled, tilting your head back to give him a proper kiss. When the two of you finally separated, you looked into his deep blue eyes, entranced.

“Go on then, eat while it’s still warm,” he said while turning you around and guiding you to your seat. “I didn’t make these pancakes just for show.”

“Nooo, I want more hugs!” you whined.

“We can do that all day, tesoro,” he reprimanded you jokingly and took a seat near you.

If someone were to ask you how you were doing, you would answer with “I’m fine.” as always. Only this time, with Bruno Bucciarati by your side, you would actually mean it. It didn’t matter to you if you were in a broken down apartment or a luxurious villa. As long as he was there, it was paradise.

[rociositalianlitblog]

FIVE INTERESTING NONFICTION BOOKS

1. "Beneath a Scarlet Sky" Book by Mark T. Sullivan 

"Based on the true story of a forgotten hero, Beneath a Scarlet Sky is the triumphant, epic tale of one young man’s incredible courage and resilience during one of history’s darkest hours." (goodreads)

2. "Love and War in the Apennines" Book by Eric Newby 

"Eric Newby escapes throug a hospital window to become a POW on the run in Italy in 1943. With the Nazis moving in from the north and no certain way back to England, his situation appear grim. But with the help of local farmers and villagers, who risk their livs to shelter him, he survives. Hiding in shepherd's huts and even a cave, he achieves three precious months of freedom - and meets the determined and courageous young woman who would become his wife." (amazon)

3. "Benevolence and Betrayal" Book by Alexander Stille

"A profoundly moving history of Italy’s Jews under the shadow of the Holocaust, told through the lives of five Jewish Italian families: the Ovazzas of Turin, who prospered under Mussolini and whose patriarch became a prominent fascist; the Foas of Turin, whose children included both an antifascist activist and a Fascist Party member; the Di Verolis of Rome, who struggled for survival in the ghetto; the Teglios of Genoa, one of whom worked with the Catholic church to save hundreds of Jews; and the Schonheits of Ferrara, who were sent to Buchenwald and Ravensbruck. An extraordinary montage that resurrects a forgotten and tragic era. (goodreads)

4. "Under the Tuscan Sun" Book by Frances Mayes 

"Frances Mayes entered a wondrous new world when she began restoring an abandoned villa in the spectacular Tuscan countryside. There were unexpected treasures at every turn: faded frescos beneath the whitewash in her dining room, a vineyard under wildly overgrown brambles in the garden, and, in the nearby hill towns, vibrant markets and delightful people. In Under the Tuscan Sun, she brings the lyrical voice of a poet, the eye of a seasoned traveler, and the discerning palate of a cook and food writer to invite readers to explore the pleasures of Italian life and to feast at her table." (goodreads)

5. "The City of Falling Angels" Book by John Berendt 

"Venice, a city steeped in a thousand years of history, art and architecture, teeters in precarious balance between endurance and decay. Its architectural treasures crumble—foundations shift, marble ornaments fall—even as efforts to preserve them are underway. The City of Falling Angels opens on the evening of January 29, 1996, when a dramatic fire destroys the historic Fenice opera house. The loss of the Fenice, where five of Verdi's operas premiered, is a catastrophe for Venetians. Arriving in Venice three days after the fire, Berendt becomes a kind of detective—inquiring into the nature of life in this remarkable museum-city—while gradually revealing the truth about the fire." (goodreads)

[libidomechanica]

To no other, who will take her wings

How I feel. I walked with such a sad  and shorn of long way down to  Camelot: and soon thy foot resumed  its way that I dreamd, then bless the  clouds and rue, that am debarrd  thee up under them then say Ive  sent one more gem to enrich her  sunny noon; gie me my Highland lassie,  O. A day among the kisses  of the enemys hospital:  cut to meet you on the  night when on the  inward sight, when birds do sing, hey ding  a ding, ding; sweet lovers, the  love. A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy,  she chanted loudly, chanted lowly, till 

tyrant passion ’“tis and I sigh or tear  perhaps I was a  bashful art,” the rurall song of songs, which  is not eased by nightingales  and loops, a good, then learn how false fears  were met, the fleshly indifferent  guitars in his belly  is as a flock of Hazeldean.  wet were turnd to inspird with  Pearl, Of my beloved  had with heavy pace: Makes blackest  brooke of her sacred rites vnfit.  her House with rags of shadow  to me had brought my mind a  day like the day our remote  Shalott. When roasted 

crabs hiss in the chief of Errington  and yet I would not let him  grace when cloutin a kettle, and  tenor of thy soul move still, beside  his armor wouldnt be your  belief undoes your bed. To keep  me not the meadow: a touch is  out it shall be his brief while  I look at this desire your friend the  common wages of  this bloody earth, even when I  was bonie face you must live, insatiate  dance the window of death? Art;  wild honey Bee, working here half-curled frond  of that fair from me, made me thus: although  earth my Emma lay; and so their arms 

round there the helmet and the  policemen who kicked my body mine own again,  softer, clear chained bridle, o  whip by her glamour disappearing  into our  dear self! Hear it. Thy voice, and  his height (the sheets rise gently. Since  which mine do overflow this  world. I hae as gude a craft rig as  made of diamonds which her  when true love thee power, for its  avalanche can bury you, so  long ago; and Ill profess no verses  dight, and pampered swells toward the  stern they repent, and leave to  ask the grass and uncrumpling 

burn away individual beauties could not  you a mightier way make war upon  the Horse of Better Women, what  showers break and speak the raging  sea, in distant point, a day like stour; ye  geck at me down. And the  golden seed in the gladness of  the Apennine, thou hearest Chloris,  wilt thou swell in pride, then, from fair sometimes  a troop of damsels glad,  an abbot on a day, and give Earth  so sound is forcd, the lock. Toge ther the first, when you opened  the spring, the beds  of the water a hollow knock  of someone … and I feel her 

warmth      i feel good      feels better mought the fall  of this smiling. While in  the king hath been to  western she wrote, the Lady  of Shalott. I am to meet  you pass watched away for which  it bore, so now his armoury, where  the fig tree putteth forth as  the only pretty much the one  else could not be said) a sin, nor  souls refind, the deil a ane wad  speir your sight.      A dying womanhood  commend my womanhood, for am  I not, am I not, her lips  derive honey enough, and in  a trance, beholding: now you are.

[violettesiren]

Tender grass in April springing, Scent of lilacs wet with rain, Bluebird jubilantly singing Snatches of a loved refrain, Falcon soaring high above me, Light of stars in deeps divine, Creeping earth-bound things that move me To compassion, ye are mine! Wind in varied cadence playing Mystic runes on harps unseen, Blossom hardily delaying Where lost summer late hath been, Shadow drifting o'er the mountain, Mist blown inward from the sea, Hidden spring and bubbling fountain,— Ye are mine and parts of me! What am I? The stars have made me, And the dust to which I cleave, Rivers, and the hills that aid me, Past and future, morn and eve, Nightshade lightly plucked unknowing, Roses fondly twined with rue, Harvestings of mine own sowing, And from fields I never knew! I have gained mid loss and capture Strength not found in vanquishing, Sharing oft the mounting rapture, Trailing oft the broken wing; Kindred with the sunlight streaming Where nor dew nor rain-drop gleams, With the parchèd desert dreaming Incommunicable dreams, Laid in cavern-bed at even, Throned on rose-flushed Apennine— Multitudinous earth and heaven, Naught ye hold that is not mine!

Kindred by Florence Earle Coates

[reyook]

The Sea Burial

[WW2 International Guerrilla AU (?\

USUK brotherhood

Wrote this six years ago for my highschool English class... Yeah, I’m graduating from college now yet still not good at English. Whatever.

_______________________

The sun was going down. A small piece of the moon appeared behind staked mists. Waves clasped the beach for only a few seconds, then faded in the vast ocean. The seagulls hovered above them and cried loud laments. The salty sea breeze stroked the leaves, the sands, the rocks, and his lapel.

How large the ocean was! Alfred felt he could not believe he and Arthur had passed the Mediterranean to come here two years before. In that time, he was only seventeen, and he knew nothing about war and danger. He still remembered that long trip, the harbors he had been to, and one time, the sea burial. 

Not every soldier could arrive at the battlefield safely. That morning, he woke up because of the noise from the deck — a funeral for a young Scottish sailor, who died from a gun accident. The white fabric covered his body on a wooden board. His girlfriend, a nurse who could not save her lover, played the bagpipe in the prow. The soft, mournful ballad waved with the winds. Some sailors uplifted the board and, at last, pushed it into the sea. 

Alfred did not see the spindrift. He only heard the sound when the wood hit the seawater.  The loud noise appeared like a drumbeat in the nurse's song. Suddenly she dropped the bagpipe, crashed into the crowd, shouted, and cried. She stretched her arm as a cross on the deck. She was not tall, but Alfred recognized her immediately. Her head overlapped the rising sun, and her prayer and weeping dropped into the vast ocean.

Being a sailor was not a safe job, the same as a soldier. It was the first thing Alfred learned from Arthur in this journey. He was the lucky one. After went through gunfire, land mine, death, defeat and victory, Alfred, as a sailor and also a soldier, was still breathing. Alfred could not tell if he liked life, but now, he had to love it, more than everything. 

He had to love this deep edgeless sea, this tranquil splendid sky, and the thousands of scintillant bleary lights behind him. Their brightness drew out the shape of towns and dimmed the Apennine Mountains into the nightfall. If a ship passed this beach in this kind moment, they would think this was only an ordinary seaside village. Only people who fought and lived here knew its splendid secret.

It was like one month ago when Arthur was still alive. They ran in the forests and woods with the guerrilla. In the early morning, they woke up with the cool grey mist. The moist fragrance from grass and soil melted into the chicken soup. Brooks flowed through flowering shrubs and wilds, like ribbon bound up in the hair of spring and summer. 

After the rain, the leaves dressed in a white veil, and all the trunks put on their dark cloak. The sky was always delightful, no matter how the weather went. At noon, the blazing sunshine smelt their guns, their homespun clothes, their old muddy boots, and their good warm-blooded hearts.

One dusk, after they annihilated a small enemy, Arthur and Alfred set on the roof of their headquarter (before the war, it was a villa for a rich man). The grand ridge stretched her arm and showed them her colorful jewelry that covered up her long dress. Arthur pointed to the flowers over the mountains.

"You know what?" His intonation enhanced unconsciously, "We should live here. You, me, mom and dad, move here and live together when the war ended. We can build our own house and have a garden. I can plant some roses. It is just not the right place to fight, to destroy by guns and shells. It is a place to sleep, to enjoy nature, to sing and play music, to sail, to catch some fish. It is a place to live life, but not only exist." 

Alfred stared at Arthur. He could see in his elder brother's emerald eyes, the magnificent highlights. His eyes had the same color as the verdant woods, and his thick eyebrows, which had been mocked by Alfred so many times, at this moment, unfolded with evident expectation, like the expanded wings of seagulls.

However, this was merely a dream. Even if Arthur had survived, he would not stay in a mountain and live a peaceful life. They were the sons of sailors. Their hometown was Liverpool, the best harbor in the world! No real sailor from Liverpool would stop the journey until death. The places they have been to, no matter how beautiful they were, could only be a memory. They only had one home to stay forever: the sea.

Arthur loved the Apennine. Now, Alfred took this responsibility. He would love here, as deep as he loved Liverpool and the sea. But before that, he needed to send Arthur back to his HOME.

Chiara Vargas came back. She brought a big basket with countless flowers–white and red roses and some purple lilies, covered with leaves and mud. Alfred could even smile the familiar aroma.

"I bought this candle." She took out the red candle, "I don't want to bury him in darkness." 

He took it with an amiable smile.

"Thank you, Chiara…… little sister." He always called her by name. In the whole troop, only Arthur called her "little sister." Chiara blinked her eyes. he tears moistened her pale face.

They removed the flowers from the basket to that little boat, where Arthur was. Some petals dropped on his golden hair, like roseate clouds decorating the offshore thatch. Alfred put that red candle on the prow and ignited it. The tiny flame jumped for a few seconds and started to burn quietly. Alfred boarded on the boat and rowed it into the Mediterranean.

The world was silent. Alfred's arms were moving, but all his mind and sight were on Arthur. He did not even know what he was looking for. Maybe he wanted to find just a few trails from their childhood. He needed to remember something before his brother disappeared from this world. For a few seconds, he felt like Arthur was a stranger, but after another couple seconds, he realized that this is still his brother.

The moon came out. The shadows on Arthur's face changed. He recently began to look on the glistening waves under the boat. The ocean wobbled the boat like a mother wobbled the cradle. His heartbeats were in the same frequency with those waves. Arthur's heartbeats were like the waves in the deep, deep sea, where all things lived in darkness, silence, and safety.

Finally, he thought, he is ready. He looked back; the lights on the shore were so remote that he felt like they were a part of the Milky Way. He picked up the chisel and drilled a hole in the bottom of the boat. The chilly seawater came up stoutly, inundated his feet, and Arthur's hair. The flowers floated in the boat, slowly and softly.

Alfred jumped out of the boat. He backstroked without knowing the direction. He just swam, as Arthur taught him twelve years ago. The only thing he could hear was the heartbeats of the sea. But the thing he could see was much more amazing.

Stars. The cloudless starry night firmament covered his view. The stars were like iron nails on the warship, like sugar on homemade bread, like the tears on Chiara's face, like the lights in Arthur's eyes. They were there for a long time. They would be there forever. They did not know the cold of the water, but they needed to bear more loneliness than any human could do. 

Today, they twinkled to Alfred; the moonlight clasped he and his brother. They were the distinguished guests of this funeral. He did not know why the stars became vague and brighter. He kept swimming in this endless space, like swimming in heaven. The shimmery spindrift created another starry sky, and he was just a small traveler in it.

The flashlight interrupted his illusion: Chiara rowed another boat and found him. After he got on the boat, she gave him a towel and asked, "Has your brother……arrived home?"

He eventually observed the distance. He did not miss the direction, but nothing was there now. Only the deep mirky ocean answered this question.

"Yes, he has."

The sailor laid on the boat as he slept on a warm bed. The sailor slept in the sea as he slept in his mother's embrace. Arthur went back to that high eternal home, with thousands of splendid flowers and stars.

End.

[reads2love]

Read an excerpt from In The Shadow of The Apennines by Kimberly Sullivan and enter the gift card giveaway

Read an excerpt from In The Shadow of The Apennines by Kimberly Sullivan and enter the gift card giveaway

In The Shadow of The ApenninesKimberly SullivanPublication date: October 21st 2022Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Historical, Women’s FictionAn American divorcée. An Italian shepherdess. Separated by a century, united by common dreams. The sleepy little Abruzzo mountain town of Marsicano seems about as far as Samantha can flee from her failed marriage and disastrous university career. Eager for a…

[aubreywynne51]

Read an excerpt from In The Shadow of The Apennines by Kimberly Sullivan and enter the gift card giveaway

Read an excerpt from In The Shadow of The Apennines by Kimberly Sullivan and enter the gift card giveaway

In The Shadow of The ApenninesKimberly SullivanPublication date: October 21st 2022Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Historical, Women’s FictionAn American divorcée. An Italian shepherdess. Separated by a century, united by common dreams. The sleepy little Abruzzo mountain town of Marsicano seems about as far as Samantha can flee from her failed marriage and disastrous university career. Eager for a…

[moohnshinescorner]

BOOK BLITZ | IN THE SHADOW OF THE APENNINES

BOOK BLITZ | IN THE SHADOW OF THE APENNINES

In The Shadow of The ApenninesKimberly SullivanPublication date: October 21st 2022Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Historical, Women’s Fiction An American divorcée. An Italian shepherdess. Separated by a century, united by common dreams. The sleepy little Abruzzo mountain town of Marsicano seems about as far as Samantha can flee from her failed marriage and disastrous university career. Eager for a…

[thearistocratsblog]

The Triumph of Life

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Swift as a spirit hastening to his task Of glory & of good, the Sun sprang forth Rejoicing in his splendour, & the mask Of darkness fell from the awakened Earth. The smokeless altars of the mountain snows Flamed above crimson clouds, & at the birth Of light, the Ocean's orison arose To which the birds tempered their matin lay, All flowers in field or forest which unclose Their trembling eyelids to the kiss of day, Swinging their censers in the element, With orient incense lit by the new ray Burned slow & inconsumably, & sent Their odorous sighs up to the smiling air, And in succession due, did Continent, Isle, Ocean, & all things that in them wear The form & character of mortal mould Rise as the Sun their father rose, to bear Their portion of the toil which he of old Took as his own & then imposed on them; But I, whom thoughts which must remain untold Had kept as wakeful as the stars that gem The cone of night, now they were laid asleep, Stretched my faint limbs beneath the hoary stem Which an old chestnut flung athwart the steep Of a green Apennine: before me fled The night; behind me rose the day; the Deep Was at my feet, & Heaven above my head When a strange trance over my fancy grew Which was not slumber, for the shade it spread Was so transparent that the scene came through As clear as when a veil of light is drawn O'er evening hills they glimmer; and I knew That I had felt the freshness of that dawn, Bathed in the same cold dew my brow & hair And sate as thus upon that slope of lawn Under the self same bough, & heard as there The birds, the fountains & the Ocean hold Sweet talk in music through the enamoured air. And then a Vision on my brain was rolled. As in that trance of wondrous thought I lay This was the tenour of my waking dream. Methought I sate beside a public way Thick strewn with summer dust, & a great stream Of people there was hurrying to & fro Numerous as gnats upon the evening gleam, All hastening onward, yet none seemed to know Whither he went, or whence he came, or why He made one of the multitude, yet so Was borne amid the crowd as through the sky One of the million leaves of summer's bier.— Old age & youth, manhood & infancy, Mixed in one mighty torrent did appear, Some flying from the thing they feared & some Seeking the object of another's fear, And others as with steps towards the tomb Pored on the trodden worms that crawled beneath, And others mournfully within the gloom Of their own shadow walked, and called it death ... And some fled from it as it were a ghost, Half fainting in the affliction of vain breath. But more with motions which each other crost Pursued or shunned the shadows the clouds threw Or birds within the noonday ether lost, Upon that path where flowers never grew; And weary with vain toil & faint for thirst Heard not the fountains whose melodious dew Out of their mossy cells forever burst Nor felt the breeze which from the forest told Of grassy paths, & wood lawns interspersed With overarching elms & caverns cold, And violet banks where sweet dreams brood, but they Pursued their serious folly as of old .... And as I gazed methought that in the way The throng grew wilder, as the woods of June When the South wind shakes the extinguished day.— And a cold glare, intenser than the noon But icy cold, obscured with [[blank]] light The Sun as he the stars. Like the young moon When on the sunlit limits of the night Her white shell trembles amid crimson air And whilst the sleeping tempest gathers might Doth, as a herald of its coming, bear The ghost of her dead Mother, whose dim form Bends in dark ether from her infant's chair, So came a chariot on the silent storm Of its own rushing splendour, and a Shape So sate within as one whom years deform Beneath a dusky hood & double cape Crouching within the shadow of a tomb, And o'er what seemed the head, a cloud like crape, Was bent a dun & faint etherial gloom Tempering the light; upon the chariot's beam A Janus-visaged Shadow did assume The guidance of that wonder-winged team. The Shapes which drew it in thick lightnings Were lost: I heard alone on the air's soft stream The music of their ever moving wings. All the four faces of that charioteer Had their eyes banded . . . little profit brings Speed in the van & blindness in the rear, Nor then avail the beams that quench the Sun Or that his banded eyes could pierce the sphere Of all that is, has been, or will be done.— So ill was the car guided, but it past With solemn speed majestically on . . . The crowd gave way, & I arose aghast, Or seemed to rise, so mighty was the trance, And saw like clouds upon the thunder blast The million with fierce song and maniac dance Raging around; such seemed the jubilee As when to greet some conqueror's advance Imperial Rome poured forth her living sea From senatehouse & prison & theatre When Freedom left those who upon the free Had bound a yoke which soon they stooped to bear. Nor wanted here the true similitude Of a triumphal pageant, for where'er The chariot rolled a captive multitude Was driven; althose who had grown old in power Or misery,—all who have their age subdued, By action or by suffering, and whose hour Was drained to its last sand in weal or woe, So that the trunk survived both fruit & flower; All those whose fame or infamy must grow Till the great winter lay the form & name Of their own earth with them forever low, All but the sacred few who could not tame Their spirits to the Conqueror, but as soon As they had touched the world with living flame Fled back like eagles to their native noon, Of those who put aside the diadem Of earthly thrones or gems, till the last one Were there;—for they of Athens & Jerusalem Were neither mid the mighty captives seen Nor mid the ribald crowd that followed them Or fled before . . Now swift, fierce & obscene The wild dance maddens in the van, & those Who lead it, fleet as shadows on the green, Outspeed the chariot & without repose Mix with each other in tempestuous measure To savage music .... Wilder as it grows, They, tortured by the agonizing pleasure, Convulsed & on the rapid whirlwinds spun Of that fierce spirit, whose unholy leisure Was soothed by mischief since the world begun, Throw back their heads & loose their streaming hair, And in their dance round her who dims the Sun Maidens & youths fling their wild arms in air As their feet twinkle; they recede, and now Bending within each other's atmosphere Kindle invisibly; and as they glow Like moths by light attracted & repelled, Oft to new bright destruction come & go. Till like two clouds into one vale impelled That shake the mountains when their lightnings mingle And die in rain,—the fiery band which held Their natures, snaps . . . ere the shock cease to tingle One falls and then another in the path Senseless, nor is the desolation single, Yet ere I can say where the chariot hath Past over them; nor other trace I find But as of foam after the Ocean's wrath Is spent upon the desert shore.—Behind, Old men, and women foully disarrayed Shake their grey hair in the insulting wind, Limp in the dance & strain, with limbs decayed, Seeking to reach the light which leaves them still Farther behind & deeper in the shade. But not the less with impotence of will They wheel, though ghastly shadows interpose Round them & round each other, and fulfill Their work and to the dust whence they arose Sink & corruption veils them as they lie And frost in these performs what fire in those. Struck to the heart by this sad pageantry, Half to myself I said, "And what is this? Whose shape is that within the car? & why"- I would have added—"is all here amiss?" But a voice answered . . "Life" . . . I turned & knew (O Heaven have mercy on such wretchedness!) That what I thought was an old root which grew To strange distortion out of the hill side Was indeed one of that deluded crew, And that the grass which methought hung so wide And white, was but his thin discoloured hair, And that the holes it vainly sought to hide Were or had been eyes.—"lf thou canst forbear To join the dance, which I had well forborne," Said the grim Feature, of my thought aware, "I will now tell that which to this deep scorn Led me & my companions, and relate The progress of the pageant since the morn; "If thirst of knowledge doth not thus abate, Follow it even to the night, but I Am weary" . . . Then like one who with the weight Of his own words is staggered, wearily He paused, and ere he could resume, I cried, "First who art thou?" . . . "Before thy memory "I feared, loved, hated, suffered, did, & died, And if the spark with which Heaven lit my spirit Earth had with purer nutriment supplied "Corruption would not now thus much inherit Of what was once Rousseau—nor this disguise Stained that within which still disdains to wear it.— "If I have been extinguished, yet there rise A thousand beacons from the spark I bore."— "And who are those chained to the car?" "The Wise, "The great, the unforgotten: they who wore Mitres & helms & crowns, or wreathes of light, Signs of thought's empire over thought; their lore "Taught them not this—to know themselves; their might Could not repress the mutiny within, And for the morn of truth they feigned, deep night "Caught them ere evening." "Who is he with chin Upon his breast and hands crost on his chain?" "The Child of a fierce hour; he sought to win "The world, and lost all it did contain Of greatness, in its hope destroyed; & more Of fame & peace than Virtue's self can gain "Without the opportunity which bore Him on its eagle's pinion to the peak From which a thousand climbers have before "Fall'n as Napoleon fell."—I felt my cheek Alter to see the great form pass away Whose grasp had left the giant world so weak That every pigmy kicked it as it lay— And much I grieved to think how power & will In opposition rule our mortal day— And why God made irreconcilable Good & the means of good; and for despair I half disdained mine eye's desire to fill With the spent vision of the times that were And scarce have ceased to be . . . "Dost thou behold," Said then my guide, "those spoilers spoiled, Voltaire, "Frederic, & Kant, Catherine, & Leopold, Chained hoary anarch, demagogue & sage Whose name the fresh world thinks already old— "For in the battle Life & they did wage She remained conqueror—I was overcome By my own heart alone, which neither age "Nor tears nor infamy nor now the tomb Could temper to its object."—"Let them pass"— I cried—"the world & its mysterious doom "Is not so much more glorious than it was That I desire to worship those who drew New figures on its false & fragile glass "As the old faded."—"Figures ever new Rise on the bubble, paint them how you may; We have but thrown, as those before us threw, "Our shadows on it as it past away. But mark, how chained to the triumphal chair The mighty phantoms of an elder day— "All that is mortal of great Plato there Expiates the joy & woe his master knew not; That star that ruled his doom was far too fair— "And Life, where long that flower of Heaven grew not, Conquered the heart by love which gold or pain Or age or sloth or slavery could subdue not— "And near [[blank]] walk the [[blank]] twain, The tutor & his pupil, whom Dominion Followed as tame as vulture in a chain.— "The world was darkened beneath either pinion Of him whom from the flock of conquerors Fame singled as her thunderbearing minion; "The other long outlived both woes & wars, Throned in new thoughts of men, and still had kept The jealous keys of truth's eternal doors "If Bacon's spirit [[blank]] had not leapt Like lightning out of darkness; he compelled The Proteus shape of Nature's as it slept "To wake & to unbar the caves that held The treasure of the secrets of its reign— See the great bards of old who inly quelled "The passions which they sung, as by their strain May well be known: their living melody Tempers its own contagion to the vein "Of those who are infected with it—I Have suffered what I wrote, or viler pain!— "And so my words were seeds of misery— Even as the deeds of others."—"Not as theirs," I said—he pointed to a company In which I recognized amid the heirs Of Caesar's crime from him to Constantine, The Anarchs old whose force & murderous snares Had founded many a sceptre bearing line And spread the plague of blood & gold abroad, And Gregory & John and men divine Who rose like shadows between Man & god Till that eclipse, still hanging under Heaven, Was worshipped by the world o'er which they strode For the true Sun it quenched.—"Their power was given But to destroy," replied the leader—"I Am one of those who have created, even "If it be but a world of agony."— "Whence camest thou & whither goest thou? How did thy course begin," I said, "& why? "Mine eyes are sick of this perpetual flow Of people, & my heart of one sad thought.— Speak."—"Whence I came, partly I seem to know, "And how & by what paths I have been brought To this dread pass, methinks even thou mayst guess; Why this should be my mind can compass not; "Whither the conqueror hurries me still less. But follow thou, & from spectator turn Actor or victim in this wretchedness, "And what thou wouldst be taught I then may learn From thee.—Now listen . . . In the April prime When all the forest tops began to burn "With kindling green, touched by the azure clime Of the young year, I found myself asleep Under a mountain which from unknown time "Had yawned into a cavern high & deep, And from it came a gentle rivulet Whose water like clear air in its calm sweep "Bent the soft grass & kept for ever wet The stems of the sweet flowers, and filled the grove With sound which all who hear must needs forget "All pleasure & all pain, all hate & love, Which they had known before that hour of rest: A sleeping mother then would dream not of "The only child who died upon her breast At eventide, a king would mourn no more The crown of which his brow was dispossest "When the sun lingered o'er the Ocean floor To gild his rival's new prosperity.— Thou wouldst forget thus vainly to deplore "Ills, which if ills, can find no cure from thee, The thought of which no other sleep will quell Nor other music blot from memory— "So sweet & deep is the oblivious spell.— Whether my life had been before that sleep The Heaven which I imagine, or a Hell "Like this harsh world in which I wake to weep, I know not. I arose & for a space The scene of woods & waters seemed to keep, "Though it was now broad day, a gentle trace Of light diviner than the common Sun Sheds on the common Earth, but all the place "Was filled with many sounds woven into one Oblivious melody, confusing sense Amid the gliding waves & shadows dun; "And as I looked the bright omnipresence Of morning through the orient cavern flowed, And the Sun's image radiantly intense "Burned on the waters of the well that glowed Like gold, and threaded all the forest maze With winding paths of emerald fire—there stood "Amid the sun, as he amid the blaze Of his own glory, on the vibrating Floor of the fountain, paved with flashing rays, "A shape all light, which with one hand did fling Dew on the earth, as if she were the Dawn Whose invisible rain forever seemed to sing "A silver music on the mossy lawn, And still before her on the dusky grass Iris her many coloured scarf had drawn.— "In her right hand she bore a crystal glass Mantling with bright Nepenthe;—the fierce splendour Fell from her as she moved under the mass "Of the deep cavern, & with palms so tender Their tread broke not the mirror of its billow, Glided along the river, and did bend her "Head under the dark boughs, till like a willow Her fair hair swept the bosom of the stream That whispered with delight to be their pillow.— "As one enamoured is upborne in dream O'er lily-paven lakes mid silver mist To wondrous music, so this shape might seem "Partly to tread the waves with feet which kist The dancing foam, partly to glide along The airs that roughened the moist amethyst, "Or the slant morning beams that fell among The trees, or the soft shadows of the trees; And her feet ever to the ceaseless song "Of leaves & winds & waves & birds & bees And falling drops moved in a measure new Yet sweet, as on the summer evening breeze "Up from the lake a shape of golden dew Between two rocks, athwart the rising moon, Moves up the east, where eagle never flew.— "And still her feet, no less than the sweet tune To which they moved, seemed as they moved, to blot The thoughts of him who gazed on them, & soon "All that was seemed as if it had been not, As if the gazer's mind was strewn beneath Her feet like embers, & she, thought by thought, "Trampled its fires into the dust of death, As Day upon the threshold of the east Treads out the lamps of night, until the breath "Of darkness reillumines even the least Of heaven's living eyes—like day she came, Making the night a dream; and ere she ceased "To move, as one between desire and shame Suspended, I said—'If, as it doth seem, Thou comest from the realm without a name, " 'Into this valley of perpetual dream, Shew whence I came, and where I am, and why— Pass not away upon the passing stream.' " 'Arise and quench thy thirst,' was her reply, And as a shut lily, stricken by the wand Of dewy morning's vital alchemy, "I rose; and, bending at her sweet command, Touched with faint lips the cup she raised, And suddenly my brain became as sand "Where the first wave had more than half erased The track of deer on desert Labrador, Whilst the fierce wolf from which they fled amazed "Leaves his stamp visibly upon the shore Until the second bursts—so on my sight Burst a new Vision never seen before.— "And the fair shape waned in the coming light As veil by veil the silent splendour drops From Lucifer, amid the chrysolite "Of sunrise ere it strike the mountain tops— And as the presence of that fairest planet Although unseen is felt by one who hopes "That his day's path may end as he began it In that star's smile, whose light is like the scent Of a jonquil when evening breezes fan it, "Or the soft note in which his dear lament The Brescian shepherd breathes, or the caress That turned his weary slumber to content.— "So knew I in that light's severe excess The presence of that shape which on the stream Moved, as I moved along the wilderness, "More dimly than a day appearing dream, The ghost of a forgotten form of sleep A light from Heaven whose half extinguished beam "Through the sick day in which we wake to weep Glimmers, forever sought, forever lost.— So did that shape its obscure tenour keep "Beside my path, as silent as a ghost; But the new Vision, and its cold bright car, With savage music, stunning music, crost "The forest, and as if from some dread war Triumphantly returning, the loud million Fiercely extolled the fortune of her star.— "A moving arch of victory the vermilion And green & azure plumes of Iris had Built high over her wind-winged pavilion, "And underneath aetherial glory clad The wilderness, and far before her flew The tempest of the splendour which forbade Shadow to fall from leaf or stone;—the crew Seemed in that light like atomies that dance Within a sunbeam.—Some upon the new "Embroidery of flowers that did enhance The grassy vesture of the desart, played, Forgetful of the chariot's swift advance; "Others stood gazing till within the shade Of the great mountain its light left them dim.— Others outspeeded it, and others made "Circles around it like the clouds that swim Round the high moon in a bright sea of air, And more did follow, with exulting hymn, "The chariot & the captives fettered there, But all like bubbles on an eddying flood Fell into the same track at last & were "Borne onward.—I among the multitude Was swept; me sweetest flowers delayed not long, Me not the shadow nor the solitude, "Me not the falling stream's Lethean song, Me, not the phantom of that early form Which moved upon its motion,—but among "The thickest billows of the living storm I plunged, and bared my bosom to the clime Of that cold light, whose airs too soon deform.— "Before the chariot had begun to climb The opposing steep of that mysterious dell, Behold a wonder worthy of the rhyme "Of him whom from the lowest depths of Hell Through every Paradise & through all glory Love led serene, & who returned to tell "In words of hate & awe the wondrous story How all things are transfigured, except Love; For deaf as is a sea which wrath makes hoary "The world can hear not the sweet notes that move The sphere whose light is melody to lovers—- A wonder worthy of his rhyme—the grove "Grew dense with shadows to its inmost covers, The earth was grey with phantoms, & the air Was peopled with dim forms, as when there hovers "A flock of vampire-bats before the glare Of the tropic sun, bring ere evening Strange night upon some Indian isle,—thus were "Phantoms diffused around, & some did fling Shadows of shadows, yet unlike themselves, Behind them, some like eaglets on the wing "Were lost in the white blaze, others like elves Danced in a thousand unimagined shapes Upon the sunny streams & grassy shelves; "And others sate chattering like restless apes On vulgar paws and voluble like fire. Some made a cradle of the ermined capes "Of kingly mantles, some upon the tiar Of pontiffs sate like vultures, others played Within the crown which girt with empire "A baby's or an idiot's brow, & made Their nests in it; the old anatomies Sate hatching their bare brood under the shade "Of demon wings, and laughed from their dead eyes To reassume the delegated power Arrayed in which these worms did monarchize "Who make this earth their charnel.—Others more Humble, like falcons sate upon the fist Of common men, and round their heads did soar, "Or like small gnats & flies, as thick as mist On evening marshes, thronged about the brow Of lawyer, statesman, priest & theorist, "And others like discoloured flakes of snow On fairest bosoms & the sunniest hair Fell, and were melted by the youthful glow "Which they extinguished; for like tears, they were A veil to those from whose faint lids they rained In drops of sorrow.—I became aware "Of whence those forms proceeded which thus stained The track in which we moved; after brief space From every form the beauty slowly waned, "From every firmest limb & fairest face The strength & freshness fell like dust, & left The action & the shape without the grace "Of life; the marble brow of youth was cleft With care, and in the eyes where once hope shone Desire like a lioness bereft "Of its last cub, glared ere it died; each one Of that great crowd sent forth incessantly These shadows, numerous as the dead leaves blown "In Autumn evening from a popular tree— Each, like himself & like each other were, At first, but soon distorted, seemed to be "Obscure clouds moulded by the casual air; And of this stuff the car's creative ray Wrought all the busy phantoms that were there "As the sun shapes the clouds—thus, on the way Mask after mask fell from the countenance And form of all, and long before the day "Was old, the joy which waked like Heaven's glance The sleepers in the oblivious valley, died, And some grew weary of the ghastly dance "And fell, as I have fallen by the way side, Those soonest from whose forms most shadows past And least of strength & beauty did abide."— "Then, what is Life?" I said . . . the cripple cast His eye upon the car which now had rolled Onward, as if that look must be the last, And answered .... "Happy those for whom the fold Of ...

[spinningblueball]

Apollo 15 Panorama - One of my FAVORITES!

Image Credit & Copyright: Apollo 15, USGS, NASA

On July 31, 1971, Apollo 15 astronauts Jim Irwin and Dave Scott deployed the first Lunar Roving Vehicle on the Moon. Using it to explore their Hadley-Apennine landing site they spent nearly three days on the Moon while Al Worden orbited above. This digitally stitched panorama shows Scott examining a boulder on the slope of 3.5 kilometer high Mons Hadley Delta to the left of their electric-powered, four-wheel drive vehicle. The sun at his back, Irwin casts the strong shadow to the rover's right. The panoramic view extends farther right to the sunward direction, over Hadley Rille and lunar terrain, revealed in harsh, unfiltered sunlight. In total, the rover traversed 28 kilometers (17 miles) on the lunar surface. The Apollo 15 mission returned about 76 kilograms of moon rocks to planet Earth.

[globalhappenings]

Climate: Calderone glacier 'al lumicino', 25 meters remain

Climate: Calderone glacier ‘al lumicino’, 25 meters remain

(ANSA) ��� VENICE, APRIL 14 – About 25 meters of ice hidden by a blanket of stones in the shadow of the walls of the Gran Sasso: this is what remains of the Calderone, the southernmost glacial body in Europe and the only one in the Apennines, according to data provided by the georadar that has covered the surface in recent days, as part of a survey and collection of ice samples in situ. To say this…