#wagonwheel

[cgclarkphoto]

Pumpkins at night -  cg photography

[selidor]

[john-gregg-studios]

Broken Wagon Wheel

Broken Wagon Wheel Bodie 2019 John Gregg Studios “Broken Wagon Wheel” I found this wagon in a field in Bodie California fall 2019. #johngregg #johngreggstudios #wagonwheel #bodie #california

[arcadianwind]

i have had the "before we grow old" bit stuck in my head all day. that's just concentrated happiness in one line

[someguyiguess]

tonights song rec is Once In A Lifetime by Talking Heads

[lakelewisia]

This year’s corn crops, from small backyard stands to the corn maze out at Wagonwheel Field, have been developing at an alarming (or exciting, depending on your alignment) rate. As the days approach their long zenith, phantom ears have been spotted, glowing sun-golden and ethereal several feet above where even these enthusiastic stalks have yet reached. Witnesses report they glow in the night, ever brighter, as though something is charging up solar power in preparation for what we cannot know.

[morganmerylhodgepodge]

"Boss of the Wagonwheel"

From the original by Everett Raymond Kinstler

as sourced here:

[caridinafry]

trick or treat! :D:D:D happy halloween!!

TREAT!!!

kisses you on the top of your head and also hands you a handful of wagonwheels

[veronicagliny]

🍷

#wagonwheel

[partywithponies]

No! It isn't cinematic parallels at all, Don't make me think about Barclay like that. there is no frisson between him and mike and there is a supreme lack of tits. Although trapped in close quarters is my favourite fanfiction trope.

JK.

Unless...

It IS true that every scene in every show could be instantly improved by adding Keeley Hawes's tits, I can't lie.

But I am sorely tempted to make a whole gifset comparing the safe scene in Ghosts to the vault scene in A2A. Comparing the sharing of the wagonwheel to the sharing of the whisky. They were even both suddenly rescued while they had their arms round each other. I need to make other people feel as insane as I did.

[bhnjjjjjjuuuyyytt5]

candace marie hughes back and side back, shoulders, mouth and side of face, above knees - hourse dcfv hoofed xcfvgbh on paid ride(77) gbh radioed on paid pull - pull radioings on paid saddles, saddles, wagoned- wagonwheels paid wagonwheeled pull, kmjnhbgv mad(meals and accessorized) gunnings lays xcdf radioings f p ghty guns riffled riffles dcx accompany on paid dcfvg dress/shoes boots df paid had/have/laundromats dc have/had/had-had have radio on paid releases releaseings on paid lokings lokings riders xcdf papers dcfvg loose df coi(baggings on paid)bags bags bags dc -x pz lays immediately immediate instant fvgbh radioings instantly - hj gb loked bloker onlay. nm. loked.

[perplexed-confusion]

Got the song Wagon Wheel in my head now I want an actual wagonwheel to eat. I haven't had one in donkeys

[lakelewisia]

This weekend will see the return of the Renaissance Festival to Wagonwheel Field for two days of performances, food, and activities. While we will have actual time travelers on hand to provide historical context, teach period-accurate words and phrases, and critique costuming choices in film and television, the real point is to have fun with history. We encourage everyone to get creative and dress up to the degree they feel comfortable, rather than worrying too much about what a temporally-displaced noble or temporarily conjured spirit will have to say about their choice of head covering or use of cotton over linen.

[birchbritches]

A Showing

Sent mediums to pluck us like puppets from our hidey-holes and hold us up for show

preceding a good bit of praise by way of hubbub, preceding the puppets comeuppanced onto their heads and disarrayed and life going on despite an unattended tangle,

the angle of an audience eating up whatever's next.

Whole ghosts go missing every day.

Trays of hors d'oeuvres hoary for time and dust let rampant, not there, per se, only an anachronizing eyeballing pulling brimmed platters from the past out from under ancient perusal to clatter and impress the current with the ruckus of a summoning coming through for once when most have tried this at home and gotten nowhere.

We seethe, see the seething, eat up the piss-poor partyplatter, store-bought but feigning otherwise as that's not fascinating enough for the viewers.

Séancier pisses away the grists of ghosts gotten antsy over the visitation, only smelled a story and chews up and spits out any not in its image. The joists get older,

the floorboards tenderer, the renderer sends resignations, reins ill-fit over ages, rain making a miserable travel unwilling to give in to a graceful montage that'll get us there, gotta hardscrabble until the spirit gives out completely.

Return-to-sender upends the supposed on-paper duties done, deeds wheedle from living fingers and taunt archivists, piddling past wrestles and hassles and has restless overlaps.

We come to the table, would gum up the gears but you hear nothing.

We share an honorary honoree like a first full consideration of an honeybee and the hives it will bring one of us in time, the hexagonal waggling like a wagonwheel-heart,

we creak a bannister, we each say the other can move on, we investigate plausible construction-artifact as cause,

we talk and talk and talk and don't pause long enough to hear or interact. We stack our stories up, hatch masonry like a plague of birds could keep us safe,

we will not say anything that can be used against us or that won't be used against us, were careful but susceptible to words. The tantrums are expansive, the pricey past is worthless before it shatters, the rubble is lovelier anyhow.

We all hold hands, sniff at what that is. We are all out of falling down by the time you catch up.

[eternal--returned]

That night they rode through a region electric and wild where strange shapes of soft blue fire ran over the metal of the horses' trappings and the wagonwheels rolled in hoops of fire and little shapes of pale blue light came to perch in the ears of the horses and in the beards of the men. All night sheetlighting quaked sourceless to the west beyond the midnight thunderheads, making a bluish day of the distant desert, the mountains on the sudden skyline stark and black and livid like a land of some other order out there whose true geology was not stone but fear. The thunder moved up from the southwest and lightning lit the desert all about them, blue and barren, great clanging reaches ordered out of the absolute night like some demon kingdom summoned up or changeling land that come the day would leave them neither trace nor smoke nor ruin more than any troubling dream.

Cormac McCarthy ֍ Blood Meridian (1985)

[whichlikefire]

Excerpt from Blood Meridian / Cormac McCarthy

They took to riding by night, silent jornadas save for the trundling of the wagons and the wheeze of the animals. Under the moonlight a strange party of elders with the white dust thick on their moustaches and their eyebrows. They moved on and the stars jostled and arced across the firmament and died beyond the inkblack mountains. They came to know the nightskies well. Western eyes that read more geometric constructions than those names given by the ancients. Tethered to the polestar they rode the Dipper round while Orion rose in the southwest like a great electric kite. The sand lay blue in the moonlight and the iron tires of the wagons rolled among the shapes of the riders in gleaming hoops that veered and wheeled woundedly and vaguely navigational like slender astrolabes and the polished shoes of the horses kept hasping up like a myriad of eyes winking across the desert floor. They watched storms out there so distant they could not be heard, the silent lightning flaring sheetwise and the thin black spine of the mountain chain fluttering and sucked away again in the dark. They saw wild horses racing on the plain, pounding their shadows down the night and leaving in the moonlight a vaporous dust like the palest stain of their passing.

All night the wind blew and the fine dust set their teeth on edge. Sand in everything, grit in all they ate. In the morning a urinecolored sun rose blearily through panes of dust on a dim world and without feature. The animals were failing. They halted and made a dry camp without wood or water and the wretched ponies huddled and whimpered like dogs.

That night they rode through a region electric and wild where strange shapes of soft blue fire ran over the metal of the horses’ trappings and the wagonwheels rolled in hoops of fire and little shapes of pale blue light came to perch in the ears of the horses and in the beards of the men. All night sheetlighning quaked sourceless to the west beyond the midnight thunder-heads, making a bluish day of the distant desert, the mountains on the sudden skyline stark and black and livid like a land of some other order out there whose true geology was not stone but fear. The thunder moved up from the southwest and lightning lit the desert all about them, blue and barren, great clanging reaches ordered out of the absolute night like some demon kingdom summoned up or changeling land that come the day would leave them neither trace nor smoke nor ruin more than any troubling dream.

They halted in the dark to recruit the animals and some of the men stowed their arms in the wagons for fear of drawing the lightning and a man named Hayward prayed for rain.