When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle. - Edmund Burke
By: sp34n119w , 18:52 GMT le 03 décembre 2011
I think a lot about the sun in December. I see it all day, usually, as my area tends to be clear and dry for most of the month. But, the days are short. As the Solstice approaches, I feel that I can feel it coming – the end of the quick slide into darkness and the beginning of the long haul back around to Spring. It makes me antsy.
So, a blog for the sun, along with the randomness that always shows up here.
Spurred by something barefootontherocks wrote in her blog, I found this obscure poem about the morning sun:
STANZAS TO THE SPIRIT OF MORNING.
(For the Mirror.)
Angel of morn! whose beauteous home
In light's unfading fountain lies;
Whose smiles dispel night's sable gloom,
And fill with splendour earth and skies,
While o'er the horizon pure and pale,
Thy beams are dawning, thee I hail.
The star that watches, pure and lone,
In yon clear heaven so silently,
Looks trembling from its azure throne
Upon thy beaming glories nigh;
And yields to thee first-born of day,
Reluctantly its heavenly sway.
Sweet spirit, with that early ray,
Which steals so softly through the gloom,
Trembling and brightening in its way,
What beauties o'er creation come;
Ere thy unclouded smiles arise
In all their splendour through the skies.
The rosy cloud—the azure sky,
Earth—ocean, with its heaving breast,
Where thy bright hues reflected lie,
And there in varying beauty rest,
Rejoice in thee; and from the grove,
To hail thee, bursts the voice of love.
Eternal beauty round thee dwells,
And joy thine early steps attends,
While music wildly breathing swells,
And with thy gales of perfume blends:
Pure, beautiful you smile above,
Like youth's fond dreams of hope and love.
Thy skies of blue, thy beaming light,
Thy gales so balmy, wild, and free,
Thy lustre on the mountain's height,
Have charms beyond all else for me;
Whilst my glad spirit fain would rise
To hail and meet thee in the skies.
I don't know if it's a good poem, but, I like it.
At the link you will find many tidbits of interest from 1832. The brief article immediately before the poem, titled “Laconics”, is very funny, in a way ;)
On with the random!
[And I'll try not to be too scroogified (thx 4 da wyrd, Bogon) but can't really make any promises.]
Wet Swirlies, Dry Swirlies, All Swirled Together:
For the bigger picture, have a look at the NE Pac WVloop.
Snow and Fog and Clouds:
Hey, Something Could Happen Here:
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78 ° F
Santa Paula, CA
|Température:||86.4 ° F|
|Point de rosée:||62.5 ° F|
|Vent:||9.4 mph from the ONO|
|Rafale de vent:||-|
Updated: 14:32 PDT le 31 août 2016
Santa Paula Airport
Santa Paula, CA
|Température:||59.0 ° F|
|Point de rosée:||55.4 ° F|
|Rafale de vent:||1.0 mph|
Updated: 07:36 PDT le 24 août 2016