52/349-350: Souper Duper
Feb. 15th, 2026 05:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphSunday afternoon sprinkles lingered for hours, but now have gradually given way to more intense rain squalls. It's gotten quite cold, and could remain cold and rainy for as long as the next four days. Wind has already risen, but the weather bureau's official wind warning doesn't go into effect until ten o'clock Monday morning, and then remains in effect sixty hours, until ten o'clock Wednesday evening.
It's like a little outburst of actual winter! The higher elevations of the mountains are now expecting a decent amount of snow. This one storm isn't going to make up for winter being MIA from the entire month of January, but no need to look this gift storm in the whatever mouth-like thing it has. Let Mama Nature cook!
Speaking of cooking, I won't be again tonight. I intend to heat a can of minestrone, which I'm sure I'll find more than adequate sustenance on this chill, rainy night. And anyway, soup does not demand beer as foods of more substance do, and I already had a drink today when I added a shot of brandy to the chocolate milk I had with lunch. The one thing I remember from Saturday is that I had some hot chocolate with a shot of brandy in the afternoon, then had stout with dinner, and today I had a nasty hangover. Apparently one drink a day has become my limit. Sucks to be old me. Good thing I like soup.
Sunday Verse
by Rainer Maria Rilke
A ghost, though invisible, still is like a place
your sight can knock on, echoing; but here
within this thick black pelt, your strongest gaze
will be absorbed and utterly disappear:
just as a raving madman, when nothing else
can ease him, charges into his dark night
howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels
the rage being taken in and pacified.
She seems to hide all looks that have ever fallen
into her, so that, like an audience,
she can look them over, menacing and sullen,
and curl to sleep with them. But all at once
as if awakened, she turns her face to yours;
and with a shock, you see yourself, tiny,
inside the golden amber of her eyeballs
suspended, like a prehistoric fly.
It's like a little outburst of actual winter! The higher elevations of the mountains are now expecting a decent amount of snow. This one storm isn't going to make up for winter being MIA from the entire month of January, but no need to look this gift storm in the whatever mouth-like thing it has. Let Mama Nature cook!
Speaking of cooking, I won't be again tonight. I intend to heat a can of minestrone, which I'm sure I'll find more than adequate sustenance on this chill, rainy night. And anyway, soup does not demand beer as foods of more substance do, and I already had a drink today when I added a shot of brandy to the chocolate milk I had with lunch. The one thing I remember from Saturday is that I had some hot chocolate with a shot of brandy in the afternoon, then had stout with dinner, and today I had a nasty hangover. Apparently one drink a day has become my limit. Sucks to be old me. Good thing I like soup.
Sunday Verse
Rainer Maria Rilke
Black Cat
by Rainer Maria Rilke
A ghost, though invisible, still is like a place
your sight can knock on, echoing; but here
within this thick black pelt, your strongest gaze
will be absorbed and utterly disappear:
just as a raving madman, when nothing else
can ease him, charges into his dark night
howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels
the rage being taken in and pacified.
She seems to hide all looks that have ever fallen
into her, so that, like an audience,
she can look them over, menacing and sullen,
and curl to sleep with them. But all at once
as if awakened, she turns her face to yours;
and with a shock, you see yourself, tiny,
inside the golden amber of her eyeballs
suspended, like a prehistoric fly.
