An uplifting morning poem from JMH, something to supplement the preceding days’ somberly contemplativeofferings. The final stanza is . . . extraordinary.
The Windhover
I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, – the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!
No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.
I hesitated before posting this since Neo clearly intended hers to emphasize the lyrics, which are superb in every way, along with Kenny’s voice. But I’m going to do it anyway since IMO it’s one of the best music videos of all time. And the nature of the song and the singing allows most people to easily understand the words (so rare these days). And there might be some here who haven’t seen it and would appreciate it.
And did you know that September is National Insider Threat Awareness Month?
A notification sent to Department of Energy Hanford Site Employees.
Not that the “zips are inside the wire” throughout US society and government, be they Islamists, CCP, or DSA. Yes they are.
A companion, of a sort, to IrishOtter49’s (10:26 am) post earlier in todays’ open thread? The following showed up in my Facebook feed this morning. For me, it speaks to what many of us have been pondering this past week (and then some).
BEGIN PASTE
Eeyore: “Pooh… do you think there are some days you never really get over?”
Pooh: “I think there are some days we simply learn to carry, Eeyore.”
Eeyore watched the balloons disappearing into the clouds.
Eeyore: “Everyone else remembers that day as an ordinary day.”
Pooh: “But it wasn’t ordinary for you.”
Eeyore: “No. It was the day everything became ‘before’ and ‘after.’”
Pooh sat quietly beside him.
Eeyore: “The strange thing is, Pooh… the morning began like any other morning. The world didn’t warn me. The birds still sang. People still laughed. And I had no idea that by evening, I would be missing someone for the rest of my life.”
Pooh: “Perhaps that is one of the hardest things about losing someone. The world keeps being ordinary when your heart has become anything but ordinary.”
Eeyore: “I wanted the world to stop.”
Pooh: “I know.”
Eeyore: “But it didn’t.”
Pooh: “No.”
Eeyore: “Days kept coming. Seasons changed. People went home and carried on with their lives.”
Pooh: “And you?”
Eeyore lowered his head.
Eeyore: “Part of me stayed on that day.”
Pooh reached for his paw.
Pooh: “Maybe part of you always will.”
Eeyore: “Is that all right?”
Pooh: “I think so. When someone means enough to you, you don’t simply leave the day you lost them behind. You carry pieces of it with you.”
Eeyore looked toward the sky again.
Eeyore: “I would give anything for one more ordinary day with them.”
Pooh: “What would you do?”
Eeyore: “Nothing special. That’s the funny part. I’d just sit beside them. Listen to their voice. Watch them smile. And this time, I’d know how precious ordinary really was.”
Pooh moved closer.
Eeyore: “That was the worst day of my life, Pooh.”
Pooh: “Because it was their last?”
Eeyore nodded.
Pooh: “Then perhaps all the days before it deserve remembering too.”
Eeyore: “Why?”
Pooh: “Because their last day is only one page, Eeyore. Their life with you was the whole story.”
And as the balloons disappeared beyond the clouds, Eeyore kept looking upward.
Not because he was ready to let go.
But because sometimes grief is simply love looking for someone it can no longer reach.
And sometimes the hardest day of your life is the last day of someone else’s — because you wake up the next morning and discover that somehow, impossibly, you must learn to live all the days they could not.
END PASTE
H/t instapundit
BEFORE YOU BURN THE HOUSE
I keep hearing people talk about civil war like it’s weather coming over the ridge. “Burn it down! Let the whole thing break! Start again in the ashes!”
Reckless words from folks who still have a ballot sitting on the table.
Before you speak of rifles, use the piece of paper men once crossed oceans and battlefields to earn. If you curse the Republic as dead, make damn sure you showed up while it was still breathing.
There’s nothing martial or noble about surrendering early.
A warrior doesn’t abandon the wall because the night is long. He holds until holding is impossible. He also spends every round before drawing the blade. And exhausts every lawful avenue because once blood answers politics, nobody controls what comes next.
Honor demands you MUST vote. Not because voting is sacred. Because war is.
If the darkest hour comes, let your conscience be clean enough to say you held the line until the line itself was gone.
War is the last argument of a people who have already spent every other word.
So, have you?
@IrishOtter49: An uplifting morning poem from JMH…
Not to be pedantic, but that would be GMH, Gerard Manley Hopkins.
I believe he has the exclusive rights on all poems using the word “dappled.” 🙂
Typo. My bad.
I don’s know what to say about this Trump report. He’s so hated everywhere:
“Trump RUINED me for this job [as a Secret Service Agent]. Not because he’s difficult — but because he’s completely different. Trump knows my NAME. Other Presidents called me ‘agent.’ Trump calls me by my actual name.
He knows my WIFE’S name. He knows my CHILDREN’S names. He asks about my son’s baseball games. Trump notices when I’ve been standing for 8 hours and tells me, ‘Sit down, you need to rest.’
During long days, Trump makes sure EXTRA food is available: ‘Make sure my guys eat first.’
When my FATHER passed away, Trump came to his funeral. No cameras. No reporters. No publicity. He simply came to honor the man who raised the person protecting him.
Perhaps, Warren Buffet is like this. But I’ve never heard of a billionaire or president so involved to see those closest to him, officially, are treated like family. Never. Not before.
Yet this is President Trump.
PS On subsequent thought, I’m sure the haters will say this never happened. And that this SS Agent never existed.
Read this post by Jeff Childers.
“And we wonder why Americans feel like the economy is terrible even though it is booming. The vibes are coming from inside the house.”
https://www.coffeeandcovid.com/p/not-massive-thursday-september-24
” the New York Times’ shocking sequel discovers influencers now come cheaper by the dozen; Drew from Dallas turns out to be Alex from Utah, and Harvey from Austin turns out to be Harvey from Leicestershire; California passes a law that can’t reach a single congressional race or a single Englishman; and Reuters counts 30,000 non-citizens on the voter rolls in just twelve states, then calls in an expert to explain why it’s not a problem.”
@ TJ > “PS On subsequent thought, I’m sure the haters will say this never happened. And that this SS Agent never existed.”
Maybe it was written by an AI (excuse me, “SI”) based on past reports.
I have been seeing notes like this about Trump since 2016, including a personal one even earlier by a commenter at the long-defunct HotAir GreenRoom.
It is perfectly in keeping with the character that the Left prefers you never hear about.
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An uplifting morning poem from JMH, something to supplement the preceding days’ somberly contemplativeofferings. The final stanza is . . . extraordinary.
The Windhover
I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, – the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!
No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.
I hesitated before posting this since Neo clearly intended hers to emphasize the lyrics, which are superb in every way, along with Kenny’s voice. But I’m going to do it anyway since IMO it’s one of the best music videos of all time. And the nature of the song and the singing allows most people to easily understand the words (so rare these days). And there might be some here who haven’t seen it and would appreciate it.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4f0p5KqdU9U
And did you know that September is National Insider Threat Awareness Month?
A notification sent to Department of Energy Hanford Site Employees.
Not that the “zips are inside the wire” throughout US society and government, be they Islamists, CCP, or DSA. Yes they are.
A companion, of a sort, to IrishOtter49’s (10:26 am) post earlier in todays’ open thread? The following showed up in my Facebook feed this morning. For me, it speaks to what many of us have been pondering this past week (and then some).
BEGIN PASTE
Eeyore: “Pooh… do you think there are some days you never really get over?”
Pooh: “I think there are some days we simply learn to carry, Eeyore.”
Eeyore watched the balloons disappearing into the clouds.
Eeyore: “Everyone else remembers that day as an ordinary day.”
Pooh: “But it wasn’t ordinary for you.”
Eeyore: “No. It was the day everything became ‘before’ and ‘after.’”
Pooh sat quietly beside him.
Eeyore: “The strange thing is, Pooh… the morning began like any other morning. The world didn’t warn me. The birds still sang. People still laughed. And I had no idea that by evening, I would be missing someone for the rest of my life.”
Pooh: “Perhaps that is one of the hardest things about losing someone. The world keeps being ordinary when your heart has become anything but ordinary.”
Eeyore: “I wanted the world to stop.”
Pooh: “I know.”
Eeyore: “But it didn’t.”
Pooh: “No.”
Eeyore: “Days kept coming. Seasons changed. People went home and carried on with their lives.”
Pooh: “And you?”
Eeyore lowered his head.
Eeyore: “Part of me stayed on that day.”
Pooh reached for his paw.
Pooh: “Maybe part of you always will.”
Eeyore: “Is that all right?”
Pooh: “I think so. When someone means enough to you, you don’t simply leave the day you lost them behind. You carry pieces of it with you.”
Eeyore looked toward the sky again.
Eeyore: “I would give anything for one more ordinary day with them.”
Pooh: “What would you do?”
Eeyore: “Nothing special. That’s the funny part. I’d just sit beside them. Listen to their voice. Watch them smile. And this time, I’d know how precious ordinary really was.”
Pooh moved closer.
Eeyore: “That was the worst day of my life, Pooh.”
Pooh: “Because it was their last?”
Eeyore nodded.
Pooh: “Then perhaps all the days before it deserve remembering too.”
Eeyore: “Why?”
Pooh: “Because their last day is only one page, Eeyore. Their life with you was the whole story.”
And as the balloons disappeared beyond the clouds, Eeyore kept looking upward.
Not because he was ready to let go.
But because sometimes grief is simply love looking for someone it can no longer reach.
And sometimes the hardest day of your life is the last day of someone else’s — because you wake up the next morning and discover that somehow, impossibly, you must learn to live all the days they could not.
END PASTE
H/t instapundit
BEFORE YOU BURN THE HOUSE
I keep hearing people talk about civil war like it’s weather coming over the ridge. “Burn it down! Let the whole thing break! Start again in the ashes!”
Reckless words from folks who still have a ballot sitting on the table.
Before you speak of rifles, use the piece of paper men once crossed oceans and battlefields to earn. If you curse the Republic as dead, make damn sure you showed up while it was still breathing.
There’s nothing martial or noble about surrendering early.
A warrior doesn’t abandon the wall because the night is long. He holds until holding is impossible. He also spends every round before drawing the blade. And exhausts every lawful avenue because once blood answers politics, nobody controls what comes next.
Honor demands you MUST vote. Not because voting is sacred. Because war is.
If the darkest hour comes, let your conscience be clean enough to say you held the line until the line itself was gone.
War is the last argument of a people who have already spent every other word.
So, have you?
@IrishOtter49: An uplifting morning poem from JMH…
Not to be pedantic, but that would be GMH, Gerard Manley Hopkins.
I believe he has the exclusive rights on all poems using the word “dappled.” 🙂
Typo. My bad.
I don’s know what to say about this Trump report. He’s so hated everywhere:
“Trump RUINED me for this job [as a Secret Service Agent]. Not because he’s difficult — but because he’s completely different. Trump knows my NAME. Other Presidents called me ‘agent.’ Trump calls me by my actual name.
He knows my WIFE’S name. He knows my CHILDREN’S names. He asks about my son’s baseball games. Trump notices when I’ve been standing for 8 hours and tells me, ‘Sit down, you need to rest.’
During long days, Trump makes sure EXTRA food is available: ‘Make sure my guys eat first.’
When my FATHER passed away, Trump came to his funeral. No cameras. No reporters. No publicity. He simply came to honor the man who raised the person protecting him.
After being treated like THIS — how could I ever return to being just ‘agent’ to another President?”
—X.com via FreeRepublic https://freerepublic.com/focus/f-chat/4396807/posts
Perhaps, Warren Buffet is like this. But I’ve never heard of a billionaire or president so involved to see those closest to him, officially, are treated like family. Never. Not before.
Yet this is President Trump.
PS On subsequent thought, I’m sure the haters will say this never happened. And that this SS Agent never existed.
Sundance assembled a granular roadmap to successfully prosecute Russiagate malefactors:
https://theconservativetreehouse.com/blog/2026/09/24/suggestion-to-prosecute-a-russiagate-conspiracy/#more-287335
@ Bob Wilson > “BEFORE YOU BURN THE HOUSE”
Read this post by Jeff Childers.
“And we wonder why Americans feel like the economy is terrible even though it is booming. The vibes are coming from inside the house.”
https://www.coffeeandcovid.com/p/not-massive-thursday-september-24
” the New York Times’ shocking sequel discovers influencers now come cheaper by the dozen; Drew from Dallas turns out to be Alex from Utah, and Harvey from Austin turns out to be Harvey from Leicestershire; California passes a law that can’t reach a single congressional race or a single Englishman; and Reuters counts 30,000 non-citizens on the voter rolls in just twelve states, then calls in an expert to explain why it’s not a problem.”
@ TJ > “PS On subsequent thought, I’m sure the haters will say this never happened. And that this SS Agent never existed.”
Maybe it was written by an AI (excuse me, “SI”) based on past reports.
I have been seeing notes like this about Trump since 2016, including a personal one even earlier by a commenter at the long-defunct HotAir GreenRoom.
It is perfectly in keeping with the character that the Left prefers you never hear about.