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incandescensWas doing quite well earlier, but feel totally wiped now. I think I blame that pile of ironing which was waiting for me when I got home. Likewise, baked potatoes for supper are warm, consoling things, but lie heavily upon the stomach.
Autumn is definitely here. The skies are grey, the air is colder, I'm wearing a jacket to work, and there's just . . . well, it's autumn. It's that level of autumn that makes it obvious that it's autumn when it hits.
---
The Man In The Golden Mask
[...]
"Again no word comes back! Were five too few?"
Josserand fretted. "Now it's eight men lost.
A dozen now to pay, and the landlord's due;
I dread to think how much this night shall cost."
So he sent forth all of his company,
Keeping a careful distance back to see
What sort of tiger laired inside the inn;
And in a moment longer, he could begin
To hear a melee brewing. "That's the way
To conquer: by the numbers. Chevalier,
Your count is up, and if by chance you may
Soon cut it down -- that's fewer fools to pay."
Josserand smiled to hear the sport
And, satisfied his plans went well,
Imagined how he'd look at court
And framed the battle-tale he'd tell
When suddenly a window burst
Expelling henchmen like a sneeze,
Two had already met the worst;
The third expiring with a wheeze.
Then there was silence, full and cold;
No one was groaning anymore.
His prospects once more made him bold;
He swaggered through the tavern door.
What he saw brought his coward back:
For men lay dead at every hand;
Their limbs were bent, their jaws were slack;
Monsieur was nigh too weak to stand.
When all at once there came a sound,
Like nothing real, and nothing good;
From nowhere and from all around --
And then four of the dead men stood.
[...]
-- John M Ford
Autumn is definitely here. The skies are grey, the air is colder, I'm wearing a jacket to work, and there's just . . . well, it's autumn. It's that level of autumn that makes it obvious that it's autumn when it hits.
---
The Man In The Golden Mask
[...]
"Again no word comes back! Were five too few?"
Josserand fretted. "Now it's eight men lost.
A dozen now to pay, and the landlord's due;
I dread to think how much this night shall cost."
So he sent forth all of his company,
Keeping a careful distance back to see
What sort of tiger laired inside the inn;
And in a moment longer, he could begin
To hear a melee brewing. "That's the way
To conquer: by the numbers. Chevalier,
Your count is up, and if by chance you may
Soon cut it down -- that's fewer fools to pay."
Josserand smiled to hear the sport
And, satisfied his plans went well,
Imagined how he'd look at court
And framed the battle-tale he'd tell
When suddenly a window burst
Expelling henchmen like a sneeze,
Two had already met the worst;
The third expiring with a wheeze.
Then there was silence, full and cold;
No one was groaning anymore.
His prospects once more made him bold;
He swaggered through the tavern door.
What he saw brought his coward back:
For men lay dead at every hand;
Their limbs were bent, their jaws were slack;
Monsieur was nigh too weak to stand.
When all at once there came a sound,
Like nothing real, and nothing good;
From nowhere and from all around --
And then four of the dead men stood.
[...]
-- John M Ford
