When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
(Via Poetry Foundation, James Whitcomb Riley.)
I apologize on behalf of my subconscious.
Must be an author.
(Ook smaakloos en sprakeloos, klaarblyklik)
H/T to the Tate Britain
Albrecht Dürer; the Hokkaido Ainu people; the great “Witches and Wicked Bodies” exhibition at the British Museum, where I appreciated Theodule Ribot’s Three Witches Around a Cauldron (a rough sketch made on the back of an etching!) especially; and the tasty lunch at the London Review Bookshop. So much good stuff to read!
I forewent the fish, but had the mushy peas. It made me think of the yonderday Russians and bunny chow.
H/T to those carnivorous potatoes and their tiny viroids.