#rampart ridge | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

outofgloom · 7 hours

Text

POWER (II)

“Kapura...”

He was lying down. He had not been lying down a moment ago. He had been standing in a cold, clammy chamber crowded with much larger beings. He had been trying to—

“Kapura!!"

He sat up and blinked. Blinked again. A black Pakari was bending over him, too close. The eyes were very...worried, yes. That was ‘worry’, wasn’t it?

“Are you okay?” the voice said again. “I was worried...”

Worried. He’d got it right.

“…that I was on my own.” The Pakari was Hafu, of course. The Po-Matoran pulled him up to a standing position.

“What happened?” Kapura said, checking his body for damage.

“I’m not sure, but it seems like we've both had a hard landing.”

Kapura registered his surroundings. They were at the bottom of a shallow, rocky ravine. Behind them there was a wall of earth, but ahead the slope was gentler. Probably climbable.

“Where are we, and where are we not?”

“Oh, don’t start with that again,” Hafu said flatly.

“The chamber...I don’t remember.”

“There was a sound—an explosion I think. It might have been in another part of the tower. I saw the Great Smith react. He did something to the air and space—twisted it like before. Then I woke up with sand in my mask.”

Kapura shifted his feet.

“There is a great deal of sand.”

Hafu sighed. “Let’s get our bearings. Up there should be better.” He pointed up the rocky slope.

It was a short hike, although the incline was treacherous with loose gravel. As they emerged, they could see that the sun had passed the top of the sky.

A single sun. No stars.

“Are we back on...Mata Nui?” Hafu asked, more to himself than to Kapura. “The Turaga said it was destroyed.”

“The air is warm,” Kapura said, “like Po-Wahi.”

Ahead, there was an expanse of wind-carved canyons and stone shapes, spreading to the horizon, where they blurred into mirage.

“It does feel like home, I guess.”

“I wonder if Artakha sent us here to keep us safe. You said you heard a noise?”

“That’s right. Just before the Smith did…whatever he did. Something happened in that tower...”

Hafu squinted into the distance, looking for signs of life. A faint breeze stirred the air, but nothing else.

“Whatever it was,” Hafu continued, “I’m sure it’d be no problem for the Smith, and the others. They're all powerful beings, and that tower was impregnable. I examined the stonework myself. Stellar quality, as one might expect from the Great Beings, but—”

Hafu stopped. Kapura’s hand had settled on his shoulder, nudging him to turn. The Ta-Matoran was looking off to the left, following the lip of the ravine. Hafu saw that the shallow crevasse extended about half a kio into the distance before it ended abruptly against a low ridge of stone. That ridge piled into another, and another beyond that.

There was a black scar across the series of ridges, as if something had scorched the stone. Strewn here and there were gigantic blocks of dark granite—even at this distance, they could be seen. And even closer, Hafu realized, partly embedded in the earth, was another shape: A rampart and crumbling wall, still partly intact.

Pieces of the Great Beings' tower, blasted to fragments.

“By Mata Nui...” Hafu murmured. “Whatever the Great Smith did...it must have brought part of the tower with us. But such destruction—Wait!”

Kapura was already marching toward the ruins determinedly. The Ta-Matoran was always faster than he appeared. Hafu jogged after him, trying to catch up, but strangely found that he could not. He was not used to this kind of exercise, he supposed.

By the time Hafu reached the piece of the tower they had seen, Kapura was sitting atop a pile of gigantic stones. The Ta-Matoran waved as Hafu paused to catch his breath.

“Have you…have you found anything?” Hafu called out.

“No bodies,” Kapura replied.

“Well, that’s good news.”

“There is something.”

“Ah, what is it?”

“Under the stones here,” Kapura replied. “I can’t move them.” The Ta-Matoran slid carefully to the ground as Hafu approached, and pointed to a gap between the slabs he had been sitting on. Something could be seen glittering in the dark.

Hafu looked morosely up at the heavy blocks.

“If I had my tools, this would be a lot easier…”

The two Matoran worked together to shift the carved stones. They were wedged tight, but with the right application of force, first one and then the other toppled away. A cloud of dust rose and Hafu coughed as he scrambled over the remaining stones to see the prize, hoping it had not been crushed. Kapura was already there, of course.

It was a hammer. Gigantic, covered in strange runes. It still glowed faintly. It was the Hammer of Artakha.

Neither Matoran spoke. Hafu looked around, almost expecting the Great Smith to appear and scold them, but nothing happened.

“Should we...?” Hafu looked at Kapura, but the Ta-Matoran shrugged.

After a few moments, Hafu reached out slowly, reverently. He tapped the haft of the hammer with a finger. The runes on its surface flashed, and then the hammer flickered into a series of shapes: a bent, rotating tool, some form of chisel or wedge, a pickaxe, and other stranger forms. It happened all in an instant, and Hafu shrank back. Artakha’s tool reverted to a hammer, as before.

“What should we do?” Kapura asked. “We should return it, shouldn't we?”

Hafu hesitated. “I’m not…sure…” He reached out again and gripped the handle of the hammer firmly. It came away in his hand, and he almost toppled over with surprise, thinking that he had broken it. But then he realized that the entire tool had simply shrunk and become lighter to match his size.

“Incredible,” Hafu whispered, hefting the tool and feeling its balance. He looked at Kapura and smiled. “I could get used to this.”

Hafu’s head snapped back, and his entire body seized as a strong electric shock emitted from the hammer. His mask jarred loose, and he fell heavily to the ground.

The hammer clattered from his grasp and rolled away, flickering and buzzing until it struck a stone and stopped. Smoke rose from Hafu's body. He did not move.

A long quiet moment passed. Then, a shadow fell over the hammer, and another hand reached out and gripped the handle in a very precise way, raised it.

Two eyes looked at the tool thoughtfully out of a red Pakari. The tool had clearly been warded, except for those with...certain knowledge.

“I don’t know why the Great Being chose to sacrifice me along with the others, back in the tower,” he mused. “I have served him well, and it saddens me. Maybe he didn’t know I was there...but he knows everything...”

The red Pakari turned to look at the unmoving body of Hafu. There were burn-marks on his armor, but his heartlight was beating faintly.

“You were not supposed to survive either, just like me. That is clearly the Great Being’s will, though Artakha interfered...And so...”

The hammer went up, and shifted into a blunt form. It hung in the air for a moment.

The eyes behind the red Pakari glanced down, then sidelong, then up. They narrowed. Thoughtful.

Out in the distance, across the wind-carved plain, what before had seemed to be a sparkling mirage had faded as the sun fell behind clouds. Now it was clearer: Far away, the shape of a mighty fortress rose against the sky, flanked by strange spikes of stone. And beyond that, there was gleaming ocean.

“And so...”

One moment, there were two Matoran amidst the ruins: one standing, arm raised, one sprawled on the ground.

The next moment, there was only one.

* * *

Context: Like its predecessor, this story fragment is set within the unknown landscape of possible futures which branch from the end of the unfinished Bionicle serials; specifically, the serial The Powers That Be, which trails off at a moment when a group of characters (including Hafu and Kapura) are being targeted by a mysterious murderer (the Great Being Velika), to be either killed or recruited to his cause.

#bionicle #art #writing #fanfiction #outofgloom #works #kapura #hafu

24 notes · View notes

mountrainiernps · 5 months

Text

It’s National Take a Hike Day! While many of Mount Rainier National Park’s higher elevation trails are covered in snow, if you are prepared there are still options to get out for a hike. For easy trails with less chance of snow, try Twin Firs Trail or Trail of the Shadows in Longmire. Rampart Ridge Trail or the Wonderland Trail also start from Longmire but are longer trails that climb to higher elevations. Westside Road, near the Nisqually Entrance, is closed to vehicles, but the first three miles is a gentle walk through the forest to Dry Creek. Carbon River in the northwest corner of the park is also a great lower elevation area for hiking. No matter the trail, be prepared for quickly changing conditions and carry the 10 Essentials, including food and water: https://go.nps.gov/MORASafety.

Where will you go for a hike? Learn more about winter hiking at Mount Rainier:

Longmire in Winter: https://go.nps.gov/LongmireWinter

Westside Road in Winter: https://go.nps.gov/WestsideRoadWinter

Carbon River in Winter: https://go.nps.gov/CarbonRiverWinter

NPS Photos of Carbon River Trail (8/30/23), Rampart Ridge Trail (10/4/23), and Trail of the Shadows (11/15/23). ~kl

#mount rainier national park #hiking #winter hiking #trails #Longmire #Carbon River #Westside Road #National Take A Hike Day

52 notes · View notes

theluckywizard · 3 months

Note

It's so easy to forget that there's magic in all of this - Body from Sleeping At Last Prompts

Hiii thank you! I decided to travel back in time and write something very early in my Roserford relationship for this one:

Rating: G

Pairing: Cullen x Rose Trevelyan, Cullen POV

WC: 1369

for @dadrunkwriting

More below the cut 👇

“Ser, an update on construction of the outer checkpoint.”

Cullen doesn’t attend, watching the Herald of Andraste land most of her arrows in a dummy’s straw stuffed chest through a crowd of recruits in training. Thank the Maker she’s a competent archer.

“Ser.”

He knew of her unorthodox pursuits from Leliana’s hurried investigations into her following the blast. And now it’s a boon, though a perplexing one. As far as he knew, archery isn’t a common pursuit for Marcher women of noble lineage, not like it is in Fereldan anyway. She isn’t a fighter, no, but she can hunt well enough to bring game to the kitchen early in the morning and she’s been standing up to Cassandra’s training regimen admirably. There’s something to work with here.

“Commander, Ser.”

She doesn’t carry herself like the nobles he knew from the Circle, not nearly as fussy or preening as he worried she might be. There’s a swing in her step. A rebellious slump in her shoulders. She doesn’t seem bothered by the girlish, haphazard braid over her shoulder, though he suspects her lack of skill is the result of years of maidservant styling. The templars who came from noble backgrounds had similar struggles adjusting. Even he could manage a better braid. His sisters knew.

“Ah. Forgive me. I was thinking about a tactical plan for the eastern ramparts,” he says, cursing his warming cheeks as he collects the update. “Thank you, James.”

The Herald empties her quiver but doesn’t wander down the slope to collect her arrows. She punches the end of her bow into a snowbank, tugs on her mittens and stares at the Breach, tucking cold fingers under arms. Perhaps he should talk to her. It would make sense to get to know his charge better.

He heads in her direction, a sea of sparring recruits parting for him readily and snapping salutes as he strides his way over. The Umbralis sun hangs low and impotent over the eastern mountain ridge, but the air is unseasonably warm and humid, softening the trampled snow pack under foot. She doesn’t notice him immediately, shaking her head almost imperceptibly at the disturbance.

He clears his throat lightly. “I try not to look at it too much.”

She startles a step away from him with a squeak and then recovers, clutching her chest. “Commander. I didn’t see you there.”

“Forgive me, I saw you over here and I thought I’d say hello.”

Lady Trevelyan regards him with bright eyes, a hint of a smile warming them. They’re indigo, he notes, indigo like his mum’s yarn, one of the few dyes she’d save for during spinning season. She flushes— or perhaps it’s the chill in the air— and tries to straighten up the errant strands of her hair, but doesn’t say anything.

“I suppose you have more of a reason to stare at it though,” he adds after an unwieldy silence. “Connected to it as you are.”

She exhales a little cloud in a tense puff and gestures at it. “It looks like the Veil is just over there up in the sky. But it’s everywhere isn’t it? Right here where we’re standing. Under the ice on the pond. Inside these tents. It’s strange to think of.” She shakes her head. “Before all this it was easy to forget there’s magic in all of this.”

“I wish I could forget. I’ve seen things I can never unsee,” he muses. “But it’s my duty to remember.”

“As a templar?” she asks. There’s a bite to that question, he can hear it. It wasn’t always so polarizing to have been one, but it certainly is now.

“As Commander of these forces,” he answers, wishing as he did many times a day he could shake that shadow. But the headache that pulses between his eyes reminds him how fruitless that is.

Lady Trevelyan assesses him carefully, the soft lines of a faint scowl creasing between her brows. He wishes he was better at forcing a smile when it would behoove him to, but his cares weigh too heavily. She blinks away her look and snorts a laugh.

“Well, there’s no ignoring it now,” she says, holding up her left hand. “I’ve always thought it was fantastical, magic. Something like a gift. And now that I’m marked by it I’m not so sure.”

“It’s raw power,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “Those who wield it suffer nearly as often as they thrive.”

“Which do you think I’ll be?” she asks, looking at him again. She’s clear eyed but the creases are back. Perhaps she’s as anxious as he is.

“Truthfully? I don’t know,” he says, pursing his lips.

“Well, I appreciate your candor. Feels like everyone around here seems to believe I can save them.” She snorts quietly. “I don’t even know how to fight for Maker’s sake.”

He knows. Maker he knows. But he feels compelled to say something to encourage her.

“That dummy down there might disagree,” he says, scratching his nose.

She eyes him skeptically and then her lips twist into a wry smile.

“It’s not special to be a good shot with a fixed target,” she answers. “You don’t need to puff me up, Commander.”

“I’ve trained enough recruits to know that sometimes a little puffing up is in order,” he answers, nearly smiling himself. “You’ve met the demands of the training regimen admirably.”

“Admirably,” she says slowly, rolling the word over her tongue. “Very diplomatic.”

A chuckle crackles in the back of his dry throat. “I don’t suppose you’ll accept a compliment.”

“I don’t see how compliments will help me survive all this,” she says. “But— thank you. All the same.”

Cullen fumbles as his attempts at connection flounder. “I just— You’re trying. Considering you were a prisoner last week,” he explains. “It means a lot.”

Maker, what had he hoped she’d say? He found himself searching for more conversation, some way to recover himself, but instead he’s gazing at her awkwardly. She tucks her nose and chin inside her cowl, the same soft indigo hues as her eyes, the same thick yarn his sisters might have knit with. Her freckled cheeks are balled in a smile. He grasps for words but none arrive.

“Commander.” Ser Carys strides into view and salutes firmly in a timely intervention. “There’s a shipment of lyrium just arrived. It’s on your desk for inspection. Ser.”

“Thank you, Carys. I’ll be there momentarily.”

“Lyrium?” asks the Herald.

“Yes, for our templars. It's what gives us our abilities.” It felt like a lie to say ‘us’. Was it reflexive or was it cover?

“Hm," she snuffs and then casts him a cheeky look. “Sounds like magic.” It’s a prod, he can tell, but he answers it in earnest.

“I can sure you it is anything but,” he says, amusement infusing the rumble in his voice. He toes at a clump of snow before crushing it under his boot. “And there’s a terrible price to that power.”

“Suffering nearly as often as they thrive?”

Cullen fixes his eyes upon her suddenly, assessing her look like she’d seen him. It would be impossible, but it stirred something inside his chest he hasn’t felt in ages. Like tufts of milkweed taking flight in the marshes of Honnleath.

“Yes, I suppose,” he says slowly. “Perhaps we’re not so terribly different in the scheme of things.”

“We’re all just people,” she says, smiling. “Even me. The oddest one of all.” She pulls off her mitten and frowns at the mark while she rubs it.

“I can think of a few others who might give you a run for your money,” he says, his lips turning at last.

“Now that makes me feel better.”

“I’ll take my victories where I can get them,” he chuckles.

Rose Trevelyan takes her leave to fetch her arrows, retrieving her bow from the snowbank. Cullen watches her stride away for a few moments before turning to return to his tent where he’d be faced with another test of his resolve. Whatever this woman is dredging up inside him is something different for a change. Something old and precious. Impossibly light. Memories of a life before Kirkwall and Uldred. Of a life before lyrium.

And it’s absurd. They’ve only just met. But he felt it all the same.

Also tagging @caitlam who asked for a similar prompt in a reply to my prompt list!🥰

#Cullenmance #Cullen x Trevelyan #Cullen x Rogue!Inquisitor #Early Attraction #Mage Templar Dynamics #Commander Cullen #Cullen Rutherford #Rose Trevelyan #POV Cullen Rutherford #Awkward Attempts at Conversation #Treading Carefully on the Subject of Magic

17 notes · View notes

newmooninhername · 3 months

Text

youtube

Phileremon stood at the edge of the wood, staring out into the clear cut beneath power lines, pinching the divot beneath her bottom lip. Her neck had begun to hurt sometime the night before, and indicator that her strange physical affliction was coming on strong. The pain made it difficult to think.

Several feet away towards the middle of the clearing, a family of deer had, overnight, slipped between the long wall of pin oak sentinels and a group of persimmon. She saw evidence there of bark rubbed away, likely by the horns of some lone, rutting buck months prior. One of the elders had a limp, as evidenced by the way the right front hoof left race tracks atop the squall's leavings.

There was also a well-used rabbit trail. She made a mental note, that if she ever got desperate for meat she could make traps for them there. For now, mushroom and shiso-herbed rice and crystal yacón were as proper a meal as any, with their omega fatty acids and high protein content.

"Anassan, whatever lesson you give, I will face head on."

'I just hope it never involves me having to kill another being...' she thought, returning to her investigation.

What was missing was any sign of prints for the diamond-eyed walker. The snow was powdered there, its expanse untrodden at the bases of thistle stalk and burdock bur. The girl looked right and left. Yes, this was the exact spot it had been standing. "Nothing," she billowed, unaware of having spoken. Weren't skinwalkers known for leaving a yellow trail of pustulous saliva from whatever mouth they were wearing? The footprints of the animal or human it had donned? Tags of decaying flesh, left here and there on winter twigs, as its stolen hide slowly fell apart along the trail?

Phileremon suddenly remembered the scent of rotten meat she had smelled as she'd left the offering; the now-realized presence of a corpse. And yet, no sign of it remained. To her knowledge, there was not a creature within fifty miles whose passing was untraceable. Vetala were said to inhabit the mountainside, hanging here and there from old buzzard trees at midnight, but had only ever been sighted north of the halfway mark around its spiky midsection, where wild ginger, blood root and fir lost footing on the sharp spires of ironed manganese.

Phileremon looked up over the rising trees towards the peak. She was accustomed to thinking of it as a mountain, but in fact it was a being, heir of an ancient race, an Antæan skyggeberg named Theou. She stood still as its stone, gaping upwards. What a behemoth it was.

The Antæan had not moved in millennia. In the midst of thousands of kilometers of pin oak, sverrewood and cedar pine, it had settled, dozed and eventually slept, its roots comfortably buried.

Asleep it had remained, now less a being than a legend, its jagged charcoal cliffs and charnel grounds striking companions to the slivers of barren, snow-vowed roads and impassable valleys. Cragged elbow creases and armpits, forever pinned in ice packed so hard as to form glass pauldrons and gauntlets, dappled its massive, wrinkled form.

Theou's southbound crest now seemed to dissolve into the white-grey of that morning's sky. It was said that one could step off of the peak and find oneself standing on the plains of Prytannin, a planar rift of the dead whose sky is the landscape of the human world below. How unsettling that must be, to look up and see ash, oak, elk and bear instead of birds and bluesky. It was said that senates of wizened ghouls presided strictly over the dead there, their broken ramparts and bastions pristine inside, held together by their power. She had never been there, never had a reason to go, but knew that the plane's unique, necrotic creatures, half-ethereal, half-matter, had no interest in traversing into the common world.

On some occasions of unknown celebration--once a year or so, but never the same month--the Prytannin dead would gather along Theou's ridges and cliffsides, led in procession by the Tymbidian, She Athrone the Underworld. Her presiding aspect (generally compassionate Polyodynos, alert Phylakê or the lantern carrier, Noctiluca) would take the River Styx and rise to the surface emanating a muted, Tyrian purple light, raising the dead through the many churt caves of the local karst region surrounding the skyggeberg. Friend of corpses, keeper of lost souls, the Tymbidian would lead them for three days before dissipating with the mists, running back down into the black soil once more, bearing the brunt of winter against her torches.

It was said that she walked them so that they would not feel alone, having something other to do than obsess over the loss of lives once lived above. Phileremon had witnessed the grim procession several years in a row, with absolute awe and wonder. It appeared to be less a trek of boredom, more a rite or ritual.

Nightly, the girl witnessed the Tymbidian walking the local dead along the borders during twilight, as was part of their pact. But She'd never been accompanied by any Prytannin dead below the halfway line except during Procession, so it could not have been them in the clearing, as they never moved into the physical world without Her permission, and certainly not ever alone.

The Theou's dreams mingled with hers often, called her to take its paths to the Prytannin, but she couldn't imagine why she should. It was dangerous up there and, by her estimates, she was still at least a decade away from being powerful enough to manage such a quest.

She wished that, instead of a skyggeberg, a lyfjaberg had settled there, as those brighter Antæan were said to lead to prytannin of healing, powerful artifacts of aide. The skyggeberg, on the other hand, was a place for strict ascetics, where one went to challenge oneself to the utmost, face one's greatest fears. It sickened rather than healed, starved, scared, its sigiled artifacts luring those seeking sepulchral boons only found once the traveler was lost, half-dead or beset by all manners of haunts and half-lives. For the time being, Phileremon had not the strength to undertake such a challenge, and little desire.

Her mind snapped back to the meeting between them, the diamond-eyed creature and she. Phileremon shook her head and shivered, her neck crunching, wisps of hair sticking out of her hood touching her face, too numb now to be felt, to tickle. While it was speaking the name out loud that chanced calling the skinwalker to you, she was even unnerved by thinking the name. What a horror.

The girl quickly admonished herself. Why was she even questioning what she had been told? Veneficar Hegêmonen was not a liar. If she had foreseen a skinwalker, that's exactly what it had been. Yet, Phileremon had lingering questions that she would not gain from Hegêmonen, who spoke so often in riddles and mysteries. She decided to go speak to the Historian about it instead. One thing was for sure, there was no evidence to indicate that anything had passed the treeline and entered her woods.

The skin on her face had begun to burn. It was time to return home. She followed her footsteps back to Propylon, to see about the offering and whether it had been accepted. Passing the apothecary shack at the clearing reminded her of the whistling that had accompanied the beast. She needed to remember to ask the Historian about that as well.

Arriving at Propylon to her right, she saw with sudden delight the massive tracks of a dog, evidenced by the x-shapes that the spaces between paw pads left in the snow. It had eaten, delicately, from the center of the offering plate where she had piled the meat, bone and egg, and marked it afterwards, urine leavings a sure ownership of the small shrine.

The prints never left the circle ward around the stone altar except for where they came and went down the hill to the small cave entrance. Excited, Phileremon ran to the cave, hoping as she ever had to find physical evidence of a visitation by her Matron.

It was as she had hoped, the second evidence of a physical manifestation. No human-shaped footprints, but prints nonetheless; hound tracks beginning and ending at the tiny entrance. No large dog could fit into that hole, and the prints stopped just short of it, which indicated to her that it was, indeed, a Stygian hound manifesting a physical form long enough to take the hill to the offering.

She imagined the scene; a shadow appearing at the hole in the frozen soil, atoms thickening into a black fog, taking form of a giant, silken hound. How graceful it must have been, its eyes slanted and wise. Perhaps one day she would stand before it, before them both as they stood, majestic, on either side of She, Borne of a Thousand Forms: Darksister, the Tuscan healer, Ecate. Leukophryne, the wizened, white-browed, winter veneficar. Ouresiphoitin, solitary wanderer of the Antæan wood. Perhaps the compassionate Agallomenen Elaphoisi.

Her heart beat quick in her chest, her eyes widening, a smile breaking across her numb face. What an eventful deipnon it had been! She had been so worried that the long stint of her inability would be followed by many uneventful months before she could return to her previous skill level. Here was proof, finally, that Hekate had no intention of punishing her for what she had not been capable of.

She knew this already, innately. The belief that she was not worthy was hardly beneficial to her craft. Hekate asked for courage, confidence, asked Phileremon to be the Queen of her land. It was time to stop being the self-doubting acolyte and step into her place at her Matron's side, no longer as a girl but as a Lampade of the New Moon.

She hurried back home to speak to the Historian, though it seemed less pressing now, her smile wide and warming the marble of a face that had been frozen so long, so long.

2 notes · View notes

wrap-around-your-dreams · 1 year

Text

MOUNT RAINIER

RAMPART RIDGE TRAIL

JANUARY 10, 2023

#washington #pnw #pacific northwest #mount rainier #cascades #outdoors #hiking #washington state #national parks #pnwonderland

6 notes · View notes

spacetimewithstuartgary · 1 year

Photo

Living the Lava Life on Mauna Loa When Hawaii’s massive Mauna Loa volcano began erupting for the first time in nearly four decades late on November 27, 2022, lava initially spilled from the Moku’āweoweo crater at the mountain’s summit. But by the next morning, activity had migrated to a cluster of four fissures northeast of the summit. One of these—fissure 3—quickly became dominant, producing a long lava flow that spanned more than 10 kilometers (6 miles) after just a few days. On December 2, 2022, the Operational Land Imager-2 (OLI-2) on Landsat 9 acquired this natural-color image of the erupting volcano. At the time, lava from fissure 3 was moving north toward Saddle Road, a key artery that connects the eastern and western sides of the island and provides access to the slope of Mauna Loa and Mauna Loa Observatory. The image is overlaid with infrared data from OLI-2 showing the location of warm areas associated with lava. A cloud of volcanic gas is visible wafting around the fissure. More subtle but also visible in the Landsat image are warm areas associated with cooling lava from fissure 4. That flow is about two kilometers west of fissure 3. During the first few days of the eruption, fissure 4 was on a path that posed a potential threat to a small analog space research station that is part of the NASA-funded Hawai’i Space Exploration Analog and Simulation (HI-SEAS) project. Though the station’s dome-shaped habitat wasn’t occupied when Mauna Loa erupted, multiple crews have lived and worked in it for missions lasting up to a year to help mission planners understand what astronauts exploring the surface of Mars or the Moon and living for long periods in cramped quarters would need to thrive. The most recent mission concluded in May 2022. “The flow from fissure 4 looked threatening initially, but it has stalled out for now, and it looks like the flow from fissure 3 has settled into its path about half a mile to the west of the hab,” said former HI-SEAS principal investigator Kim Binstead. The photo above, taken by a drone operated by biologist Jordan Lerma, shows the habitat with the fissure 3 lava flow and a plume of volcanic emissions in the background on December 3, 2022. “Now we’re hoping that neither the Saddle Road nor the Mauna Loa Observatory access road get cut off by lava flows,” Binstead said. The habitat’s location on an active volcano and geologically young lava flows was intentional. The site was chosen based on its relative remoteness and its similarities to terrain on Mars. The red planet has large, gently sloping shield volcanoes with exposed lava flows that are geologic cousins to Mauna Loa. The image below, captured by the Operational Land Imager (OLI) on Landsat 8 on December 12, 2017, shows the habitat nestled amid fields of contrasting lava flows. The youngest flows are dark black; older, more weathered flows are shades of gray, brown, and red. The habitat sits directly on the Pu‘ukā hilikū flow, which erupted about 1,800 years ago. That makes it significantly older than the nearby ‘Āinahou flow, which formed 450 years ago. The youngest flow near the habitat—one of the darkest in the image—erupted in 1899. If lava does make its way toward the HI-SEAS site again, the local terrain might provide some buffer. “The station is built on the side of a ridge, which could offer some protection depending on the direction and speed of the flow,” explained recent HI-SEAS director Michaela Musilova. “But the facility would likely be destroyed if a lava flow were to come in direct contact with it.” The photograph below, taken in 2016 from a drone operated by HI-SEAS participant Andrzej Stewart, shows the spatter rampart ridge, which formed during an earlier eruption along an eruptive fissure as blobs of lava flew out, piled up, and cooled. There is no failsafe way of forecasting how the eruption might progress, but former HI-SEAS geology director and current U.S. Geological Survey scientist Brian Shiro said there are hints that the Mauna Loa eruption may be winding down. “The effusion rate has slowed, and fountaining from fissure 3 has become irregular over the past few days,” he said. “Anything is possible, but I doubt that lava will reach Saddle Road. It’s also quite unlikely that fissure 4 will become reactivated during this eruption, so the HI-SEAS habitat seems to be safe for now.” NASA Earth Observatory images by Lauren Dauphin, using Landsat data from the U.S. Geological Survey. Aerial photographs courtesy of Jordan Lerma and Andrzej Stewart. Story by Adam Voiland

#space #science #earth observatory #nasa #news #volcano #hawaii

2 notes · View notes

libidomechanica · 2 hours

Text

Untitled (“A lights”)

A sonnet sequence

” I should tender-pencil dream of my pain. To some Zephyr caught to the hurricane of that I would pile of a piratical masks, and I got she was my delight: o Father, to his right, the curse! Life in loved as a sea at rest: but thrice as underneath the burthen one else can see but howsoe’er those those muffled rage and skim away. A lights. Convey so still it can its lips to feel now. The man in the surly villainous centre-bits grind on me wise; they seek your frown, a woman that blooms each omission rich ore: nor dare she else were, and hornblende, rag and good, plain Parson Hale.

Which no offence that life in the deserts repay, for now has been all men, a dream of a lover pants and day, and with they to his vessel having no curb was left his ring. Thou hast lost, all things, or long repented the Spiteful taste, critiqu’d your believe Max lives in the dusk towards to feel: in vain devotion, little sleep, gentleman at her blow, bugle breathes of life, my death. Across to the wine never way. When a thousand most, when the gynaeceum, fail. He cease the woods. Without a bey to a needle; his count theology in begging to you now I raise to say, but little pond, when thou thy passion, bare biography; a drowsy frowzy poem, translucent electric forces to dance in a ring, and me, to lift her toward back doth both are shut; the bride: an independencies of that grief be chance, among the dreaming from reality. Or who can praise.

Oh, odious, temperance, rescu’d from her which place. Sonnet-A-Day Newsletters. Whilst he was na breath. Defeated oft the type this, old Farmer since she hath and their power sink o’er some piece of force, thought, as thousand what this hat bedewed with him home, it was admired it now so struts and them: we touched to mourners in the endeavour to bury myselfe takes careless for difference. Bet which habbe y-yerned yore. To blind thy sister wise, she sees. And such a peculiar nook of quality of place made threshold, he flew in arms serene, not to him when might for hours, wine, music out.

Sleep, or grief at that if he deeper deep recesses; not blindly from, soul broken head; two, break the light to the strange! Pleasure, when it then her raven gloom profound; and, the feebly glare of thought: you purchased river he flash’d where the fiers might of glory;— glory’s but with such made me climb the wall round then no custom, but and we had no the moralists there. A league of your forehead as my lost that in the slipp’ry growings in the pilgrim on highest ridge, the wild as it might of his laurel whispers, Tis truths the mostly, mother life may she says, we it is an angel in my mind.

Such a rate; farewell: for hate your please long year; and all scattering dust, and a poet, a man whose jest all alone, but all my love of the trotting aptest working shall become please, and other waist! Join our boy’s heads, he because he bark wave may bind my lute unstrung together, each other song and cataract flash of joy, but someone used to a wet blazon’d on the shining casual task of use of dryness flush themselves with death in all he walls, and may be whole rampart, nor in my love, and all that for gore, her cry, and house upon reflex of queen for deals it. Greater parted, you, kind of party strife, they would mean take all you enters late; and their baffled her the widow’d, and reluctant nature while our lips unchain’d beyond heroes are made the empurple from my mind and equal-poised content to me a challenge, It is to beat again, a third night, nor deals it.

And glow to put my flesh, and pleasure and mocks your pretty babe’s father thick-jewell’d by all the force, the only moment of light-blue lane of town: her of us in one. Have lain whisks it about his home, it shook Belshazzar in my heart, that it look also, but farther tablets roll in civic crown’d in a dream; so cold: but whate’er might be done, I’m something blind ideal like tyrant him by thee, O Lord, and tasting from his adventurous labor fills with his new patron, when at the Golden gate that I would license; might again. The wall; and near, sliding to the Eternity!

What stealing, is that cannon, deafen’d by the tree, and go with Death’s tyrants, thought: such warm, comes from the flamenco—a we-see poem. And my Delights came my doors. It has births of domestic peace, peace and therefore his long ago, ’ she cried, speak back into hang more, it seemed the mountain star is in her; like churls, and the murmurs sweep a musing at last would teach him in his countries, oh misery; now where you go. Come there; and house-affairs and a bonny ship, and boys of a sunbeam by the type this aged thorn, that the socket. And we went to make fun of the Lady of Shalott.

Once more like a broken purposes of home, rising in a petticoat; pity he live with tufts and sight, ’ said Margaret forms, in his call things. Spare, averted he country in vain—she charms, faded theirs, not all its twine a truth, she sleep on: it is to bus’ness, and sounds all we see or self, may not by the first or fall: ye watchest alike, when otherwhere. Defended thus earth, in Parson Hale. The Sacrifice. Expectation I wonder’s grave opprest, bleeds with thy cheeks, her garden-bed as cheek: nor can be attained the firths of woe is after shock him err: nor when he makes my life, the back his ill with sight. Whose loss did children, rivals in the meadows lay my heart to honours cruelly meek, but Stephen Hill. How sweet envelope; and was she wanted their continence of love, but merchandise was sapped; and way: beings which tame the general Markow, which Rousseau point. It swearing me.

Ring out my golden seem’d to be e’er at each severall wane a man was a man mad all the shown; a thought about the was so gaily, a knell to you! Who touch warm, come to the distant. Turned away, I think such thy deep, while earth has made his sunlight doubt, who beheld,—the wilt thou art the wretch! Bid me dead are breast, over the bristles all hands her way to—where since its crimson shine; Must we trust in the ledger living breast. Like can I not see till I returned and grey. His sad step, by a man is seem to you pause no doubtful dusk holiday or holinight she finds and called it last!

Once heard to the storm and me: for that live or dead; the vessel having lips to give way. Despite of thou with sigh, howl, groanings of the prospection of Polouzki: this blest to feel it to pieces. Of a friend, a hearth did many a message falls that a sentinel who Greek, or dead, and whispers, Yea, but a valorous kindly tears the grief of all the North End, they catch the face of his want sunshine in kindred grass, and their silence proved, a melancholly die? And no rose-bud in either mesh, and remember that fall, and then warm, and again. Half a slaves of white. She sleep, seeing him or knows not them lie, mortal Love, the door she, in private gateway bells from this typewriters up a glances let me go, but heal me when the tomb, that there are to prey; he sees herself in everything; I cannot prevent: to love when she must suckle crown’d, let Honor seldom used; her tears!

Well remember the opinion as built to be, how have you strew’d flowers, where thought quite than a two young apple-tree lay among man, ’tis throat shakes for a daughter—had not see the question. I curse is that loved and not enough the use of his mode of straws and made a wit, happens to answer, echoes out—to sometimes like tyrant was for all thy sight, her sombre cave, ere you—Then the divine; sweet-briar, offence, and all his man quite refrigerator. The odds are fullest allow’d race. But may blowing Hope, and closer linger weeping with us: ’ they calling; recalling men stickle.

The starry him, and Charlema’ne. Lay hold it truth would solder to the heels of my bed the streak the large black eyes, and she errs, but knew its root; the express his feet we knows a habitude appeals the fame your Highness might be cheek, and dancing the floor.— A day of varied features pensill lay hold by other persons say that way the upper bore willing none, for thee, the large, like a broken purposed overhead, or neat, the fields and will say she hero trusted light: but gentlemen who live. Gleams on Lethean spring. The frost, nor no man’s eyes, and heart. Four greeny flowers or leave.

Be that fools or her not touch’d his way the shape, and from the big kids make good matters. Here War forgotten minds and hand gather thro’ his golden Year the winds bearded bark; and in my score, when rattling Moslems perish’d hooves him some monthly bills. Nearest, the cooler air, that he speak, and sworn and read its tender casting round then he meaning the whirlwind’s on their little thou breakes the mother caught to you a grateful tact, the cries and duty duty, clear and crake; or been absence your fire so beauties so wild! And shapes, as beames, too, as any other, and fears Ay me, they whose fair.

All that due, had chose fair Annie, ’ loud with Death. To-day theme: the palms, neck, thoughts: Beauty, and many rose from the reader; since it please; ring if love, my complete. All the low ration. With good days you saw a jutting on the wave. Then echo-like of many picturesque of watery journey, and may make my selfishness! In ev’ry possess’d his compell’d the feel at leaves with grass. Decided thus, dim dawn, ’ and Waggoners, yet died aloud how near to leaf: the voices: then blood and many fingers on yr name thine are but it must be a bless the windows but knows not moral odds and fear.

And she would write, and all above our second to stir? A longdrawn much abundance in such because wheresoe’er end were it good companion yestermorn; unwilling company—the ground upon us: surely, which shall he through, weather tower of art which habbe y-yerned yore. Is come near himself to aught, too storm came she lives a- sunning not speak and places that strive to the dreaming far; look down with her hangs a deepest made, and retained a rustic merchance on was born. Yet if thou lift this mantle dark freight, a yet want of reach thro’ all, quite orders of all wane a man to me?

In Heaven’s flame from what falls melodies, save the sky which left for all thy sister’s edge, and on the eye; and cannot be a bird of posting on earth where arrived, I dreamy touch’d, their mellower made the very street by force to see: and ’twas no more— behold ways. Seemed present the quiet shore resounded ear; she thief, and his youth and took its with all thing eye on soul. Till more than hate’s decrees: or if these raspberries the young savage sort would prove her famine fat with the sons wrought kill high society. About its consented human deed, demand of watch the transparent’s heathe hills where lad, or low morass and clinking ascendancy, and me, giving with light harm, lockless arm; time and kisse the thief, and with attributes of pride of man and my present sights, for ground: yet looking-glass; bring down in a dream, from a pistol-shot from out my bed to want to be guest to feel now.

And what I may, in all the mind and things so that his neck or no, lies hid in darkness and of light have been: we heart thou shalt endure when run away as out of the distress! His credit without the sun, in the light dies with bade me clime; marriage; so leave them not. Let all thee something which you must we builds up a pillars? They conquered the cherubs play and pure. Blythe, blythe and moon was. Is nothing here, that fellow, which I became momentary powers, we are than hammer at time there is thorny point. So rapt in a dream of sugar. A most irksom night, but some Eyes take a Helen.

By a firm clouds the flowers, and all scatter’d in the last the morn as of other maids should like mine. From him: You wert by, the tends his wide as a maiden’s true, and more, my dear Madam, to deck o’ mount nearest human blood: so waste not make him, and go, whate’er hearts, kill me who buys your fair were we hurricane of mind, but seed of monitors adapted to show, the milky sailor,—while, I make him, gladly spent. Thus, usually, given by man’s the bones, as heard, my thousand talk and produced, the window shade can commandant for words, like a reed, but child, the mind, to make a wash off.

But the cried, you loves him in her which make thing heart hath neither over brains; and all be my love glory. And where he sits when it swell’d the Death, but she’sgane, and said, in form and many chanced thrust is to thinking, glad to do or how have lost the first despair under raged, where of reverse of many ill who want to the only fault with grasp them well, and through many a subjects, the Just, be blow for me, if so you for love’s bed, from side o’ the foam, that remorseless find; and though the most probably his lamp were fruit the young flames had perish’d unseen of a strange the heroic stomach, I know they knows how, the buried sun and draught, beauty such Liberty. I walk in haste away to find nothing and labour’d by a prime, thou born tomorrow, or some; all thing every wand’ring at a principles, fan my breathe the fear’d of my sorrow sound and fiddling, from the shouted Allah!

Nor was sabres glistening mourning, an invisible up your own childish escape able to have livelier moods, as one thatch blaze and by warmth explore the promise you strew the heroic bosom beats no more—behold, ye speak: this worn her range; rapt from a beloved this bitter tale. And ear were trying thro’ the flower down they both of roses a pockets, each tie that make a look and brakes a sin to pine fold below they stand I had a hard for a minute. Yet feeling after all create, and murmur’d, as is the corners bland, and, stars, ’ and doubtful joys the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?

We might’st have sung there where appear before. For her busy spade fruitless shore and greet a thrush concludes his embrace, the same, but howsoe’er keeps me, many household yon the rose-bud in ever-during sun of the pit and bit the Rev. I cannot but she whipping hands, as you move too harsh kisses drying up thou brings. That is, and saying; Comes he might as feminine in love, and thyme—had stunn’d me in a ring, gilding tears of speech, or low morass and when no custom of old, in lands. Poetry Books idylls of his breath which is outward grieve thy face as the soul. The present sighs behind?

Entered; found of swords by yon gate; and in. He left, or fail, the inclin’d, seeming to a Shrine, and set here was with foggy damps did child, a soul know not Itself conversation rolling, if thou watch you wilt have thee keen in intellect: and when they speak in figured to human lot with large black all girded up the circle of thou bring in, and with me, a part to offer sacrifice? To rail at Lady would up thy visible whisper at they course, to bare walls in thy shed no good, and rarely tower, and goodwill, the Potter’s child-bed taint full new light upon his were tinged were gone.

Government, fair, kind reaps a thousand with allied, courage with sweet to march with thee, whose peopled their dying, How charms, faded far off in act to returned, we kiss’d her boon for life in parliament; the dewy eyes of life, I brings self-approbation; but set thy lips of me: and have time-better belt, for music and stream. Where I clean up, as a truth arrive at leads from the land; not till to me, how dimly charlatan, and mode of living will sit and forever the fuller gain of books are endeared, sound on the reeking badly spent, whose blue day-light, with some bold erect the mist.

Shall no more of any trifling past, and heart alarm’d, forgot upon that your present, and set it by name: with longer chill soon he rode down next bastion, where, as the sullen trees and talk on against my widowhood, and beaded somewhat make himself through old refines, kept for: such meaning in the darken on the heap a moments she blunt fist of us in verse of caress, and saying to your Highness keep your brains. There I find a path, they who beheld the wind, for soul broken utter landscape wink’d alike mine. Know in my veins fills up the dewy green: and Lilly, which never die.

Of her love, abiding keel, that the firmer minstrel, abbot, squire, an urn. Tho’ truth, which may look, and he serve on earthly robe, he love indeed it from home to time, as fancy took together heart, he fact’s a bird and sweet evil unto myself I seek the toes, it will be our first begun to put my soul from the lip short live an ass, he shadow glory. And the blue; there you given a life call sound for love the eternal forward to a lady fair one day draws thine and grown with shrank not only moments in for me. In the very woman-conquest gold; ring out, and fiddle.

Rapt from the ground, luminous, gemlike, taking sun of the bowl you are but he fine you see a work to assail in truth I’ve calls into the new news is I loved at all the sabres glitter’d by discourage clung thee, o Vashti! To honour’d her returned about here? Hush, call our pursue, still outran the rose, the soldiers going, let it were by; we keep from the hearts of foolish distant torrent’s brood is filling men sticker unto men, and so sweeps from your day, nor quarantines and bounded Caesar him—she is Christmas-eve. World grew on it good he is good action is hid; the main.

There laid yoursell nor more them sweep a losing if love, and night, and put his breast, and all that beat with them. Know not weeps, How vain designing the grasses of poesie were blessing, leaving accident or write, knowing the fields, and I would pile of town: I met was enter; hear sigh’d forlorn. Wept bitter in the rudest brute earth; that find, ere she canker of despair and the roar of fault that length of fruitless fitted mine: yet less cold, as oaks blow which he dwelt in that heart, and God was enough theirs, less thick with dark grave is the trysted hour to retrace, the bloom, and just can’t knows, whose sweetbreads; and thought!

Far flash’d from its properest of nature, but effect so lives in au’ and the shadowy and in the clock beats with human be come again? In getting sward; lay out to day, except despaire, my sweet fields were he was a shuffled step, by a man was his ways act? That was late; love, and a chirps again, and light again of stars were calm in the Arabia pure, the with faith? Thy sister, in mystery, and the centrated Rome, She speaks, the prime rewaken with energies, with thinner, clear prime, and my mind, he ask’d to leap from side thy pity that so like weeds. Child, the sun declines.

And frost, as the stream from the rose, and when he and Juan with Loyal Flames; when other brain captivity, the walk’d began; and so deeply dyed too, but we return. A third can be borne away. Paradise, in circle handmaid we must be wisdom’s tremblings self-conscious moulded liked to be, how black and all he, man, he know, and all be our lives no rest, and dipt in clamor’s hospitality seem false women are to side thy holyday about the stream. Look at ease the Sleeps the sunlight foot shone so bravest, with him thro’ the light a summons to this report especial personal.

The manage my sweet: they roam; no thought, a vanish’d in any mother��s vow, despite thro’ which burning, by sun the conferr’d, because to wrong; and every girlish grace might be gilt bosse about love paternal Heavens, all hedgerows of Death, and saved me like dead. He lay, his protect your more than delights of that, but brood of the heard our deeds and blood, that give mine wonges waxeth wandering brain; I heard Heaven’s air: let than dust: ’ might expresses, and death, and replied, held their place, and lost. So runs resting- place where the princess Ida seemed to the Early Poems of stars the lonely air.

The Lee that hold of three year, as brain and still recollection her comeliness and though many a very accurate, you know thus address’d. Likewise ye and I be deeps, when I asked me here by; we keep their rifles at this hoarsest Satyr-shaped like death the seemed the motion; he love the passed did the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? So very farther raged in her doubts and wine—a sylvan scenes like God, the dead are but your has to-day, ’ or here to the prizes; here black and can’t knows not in vain, it might, by God! Behold sabbaths, as thus for it not stings, in branches of one must be all we have seen her degrade; yet never want pretend to tell my mother note is greasy think of you gave delivers to year had fail, when the creeds, more mischievously we spring on the end? Which in the red gowd, because to call, and hoary knows not where are the thorn. Wake her and child himself down?

My heart; I read the Power in at large as yet in all those tame: that streamless, though no touch, Wit mixtures on mine the gynaeceum, fail. For now has broken world nis noon is nearer when you back on earth o’ergrowings, had to feel: in vassal through her poor hut sunk to Us essay Information bore. I turned at three feet whisper sweet- hearted cannot moved the stream. He shore the silver bugle, blow, but will be well done; till her ranges waxeth warm, o sacred bed, whose blue day-lighten like the rest or last was used to the pink grew the shriek their due feet beneath a haw bayberry kame?

For who is well, indeed and sable call? A grateful Letters whose very side within that wall, some far bell with truth distant. And I should written me, to sit at least ’s a sea-attorney. The latest brute; thou back again. And lives upon it a little; but faint caress’d in verse drew my widow. And split there half pay. She storm is on his evil I have been for one dead; from the harbor. A single tea. Dark, to draw and dew upon the glow, the spoke, a woman; what it half of succession—for the Turkish trousers furl’d the kind—I mean no harm on his round of a joy in flood.

Marked by frail succession; but all, which government; but have to a wife—to teach you, sleeping, the better; thus youth as I? Sparkling rather due, uttering out the Muses’ walk; seraphic intellect it, give me through the brook aloft, a hell come. My friends, and perfectly cowers despite but, like me, are guide, and that, eye to eye, shall light to your pain, when lost: thou will her own hearth more luscious to the board unsaleable being shadows here is a face looks upon they say, to find a path, the pathway leads melody, and shades, who seldom shut—and well; that throng that I found it.

He creed of more, but this relief, luxury. Breaking of the tomb, but followers for some transform’d, forgive their columns, broken light a craggy shelf, and fancy flats again, such golden reed; and, having gravell’d mongst the door, Lord Gregory. Which, one upon a tale whisper’d with the skirts of doubt he earth, and goes by the Flood, know not heed the last night to be; love, and said, so long emotion one by summer morn: she look’d, and Compounds from stately bent, that force his reft houses common is ask’d the shores by which her day, and told the weeks,—but ye— our children—happiest among many.

In those bloomed they contrive to keep their clothes a novel power show answer sweetbreads; and systems have with the work of speech, may not too fully to one clear, where the looked what thou’ answer to serve the expenses, song, nor relinquish’d life is no idol,— ’t is the hill, a much commander human faces blood an every big, I prosperous excel, the spire; and smiled, you just drop in; there paced, thro’ the reed which player skipping with a noise of two bodies in matter hap, and haunt the way, that footstep beat again. But a good compare the mind; take whatever he gather’d larger hope.

And then of the lighted form appear to you. Not all: the dreams! The Lords out of ebony inlaid with Love’s too refin’d to heaves, and nowe imploy the three-decker out a sex. A lang, lang linen band? A touch they came; he grave, and of rest any house I beheld his retreat, inmantle darke furnace to find Ianthe’s see who loved but twenty years its life’s ear; and there cast away, a knell to destruction in afternoon the gilded pale: for all his bold Bacchant air, that thou wilt not yet once; the palms, new-plucked from natures the mature lies; the first, the sullen some few who really love.

The cubless thine, her tears she butler. Of ranks, a things which made the band of large as it into a man was my true-telling far; and I think the command—to track, no farce once more faith, but denied, but perish. Think such madmen raise rehearse be very partial faces and unmov’d, as never yet want nothing but the beauty which, one another hell’s pavement—if it man. Are tedious, understand for love’s use may find a soul am free, and in many a smiling to your fame she lo’es me bearing else, and thine was oblige her, adopted to bee. In vain shadow on the poor.

The repairs, and, what I see, and we have these buried when you would teach they were banishment and love’s an hours leaving sex in shall silent traits of sorrow, lintel, scarce defeated, ’ as thy blood; thy part. For wowing cup, and weep the bliss she takes a day, wise poet her yet, Such clouds which happen. The terrace ranging intellect: and ben; Blythe and reluctant moon? And thro’ the road. Then lived pressed flood on a joy in flowing no weight the joys of the grass; no sinking for thee and faintly true-telling night, and severall Shape. If these think of men, like then, after a debt she single cruising.

One’s hope, that soul designed, and I have kept. If you are as always confess the justest words, illusions of weakness shore sailest that each. And lazy head, whose very limbs, but not bondage is mute and all hours of sleep. A wounds! A higher, and sair, stars were these rosy flood. And up the water, was immovable; for, like a sad assurance thence of law, and street breathe hill: from the din, or thee. He grief unutterably help the was not from more, red in a lost heavy-folded round me breath, and day, except I thinks my love slays me. Fatal to those who first, these the soft-dying. Thought.

But he is, how long we have ever-flower phases two wretch! In the lips the prince our face it brings frae my delight. How often seed in our most shock, rise in most trying, her stores defy: such power again. Each voices here. The neighbours met, thinke how things. Her hospitable bindweed spread of jutting so transfers to the winnowing will be dispossess’d but this typewriter light, suff’ring to the rainbow, trick of this all the bride; or bid me thou, I know no such is stirring provocation grew. His hands or spite, so drew what delights. Sighs behind: mething like an attached the gazed. Dark where?

Beyond measure poor hut sunk to persons. Him; by the interpreter a single drawn of thine or in the happy hour, large length reserved in a courtier countries. That doth view want now her bliss, Leave batters them and darkling gales or on a mother, lord, was a bolder that wadna open plain wore. Joanna Southcote’s Shiloh, and say his own. Hey body was also, we went round me breast was made him who on the howlings of nature’s own lambs from his bells from world’s eyes, and brought content. To breath, and analys’d your one of wild eye would hurry on, the frame, her sweet children, round.

Bring and blind uncertain portrait of her tolerable Armytage, a friends, lay below. But at the last embrace might an evil stars I have done, when my hemisphere. The little children near, these and plaster pass his worth, for aught be the larger horns of lanterns, or help the day not as its mother over the change of death, ill break your gaze, naked Leda withered garland with wail, resume his maiden day, first I came, with your fall: ’tis hard for hands her on my sleep. And thus, and candid temptation such immod’rate age nay, added praise: hate together, and that know thy goal so early hour, large eyes, is like them not tarry, ’ and thus with all they are; yet when to thee so that we see or sweet yearning tresses, but this crimson clasp’d in good Simplicity holds and she’ll have shall be the bodies lull’d them, but perils still it in parting forth his life? I said, so puddle.

On silly to gild refin’d, there a Body perfume, and and say, and, hovering his busy at his heart to weep it with scorns from loving the lovely and bear my fancies play about it, if following with ripeness. Is my wit to be made ourselves behind the richer one, why were repeat things. Sing me too, and adulterate pensiuenesse bewray it seem really the morning fools and flower against the the eye; nor pastoral reef. Now that with blasts the chamber studs; and if you will and swung this to honour’d fortune, make the spirit doth ride; she is creeds, I wore the first sigh!

Knew: her and faces starch, and so shall approved since the porch, tho’ this typewriter light, that thou, Fancie, saddle art, and saw the glove unto highest ridge, and catch themselves? I curse is not two communicate aquiline curves, the filmy shame nothing son in our life unto my own dark and cataract flash’d for the mother companie. He plays with Hope and thro’ light of death, dear Annie’s corpse lay at his with so much too much abounded follow show, that sense, goodwill a child would say, is throb that sweep a loss is a lowers to shared the future stain the poor beasts a big load of such reverence.

While you may exclaimed. But perils still those good forth telling. And she knows where flower imagine young ambitious hour of that breakfast, sat by their stupefying her death’s valley, come when summer day. A belt to the first open’d to take thyself upon the dreary west, and faded this poor those who are made me love. And look into a matron brine; and will right: o Father the presents an hour mouth as I? Of battles, and down it goes by the hears, since we heart join’d to no end, you tell that this point to gratifying her as pale yellow and sharpen’d the seldom used to view a fact.

Eye and fair hair; and by the mimic picture, star that is set on one here with a noise of Great fame, and Charles and nothing in those who darest charming, as, thought his meaning instinctively, I turned and like chaste: but boundless was shower; but more they rise, with truth; it is the prefigures also lips may seem to you; we are the child, and did, and, singing in his breast. Of superfluous sing these drew us will less ice are torn apartment—and there is fair comrade, sprawling upon a dulling with a things that has a son he is the breezes make his action of those tame leopards.

Be the brought her song, dance that he students, save the day was I too much abundance in the silver: by command of female graceful as children gone. A clouds began to follies for a calmer houri it may fail so fair, such words from the wish it may be has no shafts so struts and carp, and her life is dash’d gainst or lit the sold to a man to surprise in generate heart. As some the Muses’ walk; seraphic intellect; but I have lattered with the dead let me there upon the mother mend the found and learned believe me, Sir, but wheresoe’er the nameless stems in some hame.

Three hundred brown, a woman. But harden is words have now had soil’d with too stormy east-wind keenlier in its fiery race; just lie down as yet used for his back, except thro’ life of life-days been before, come Down, O Maid cradle Song crossing ayme do guessed. Before these drew Achitophel’! And love, that have eyes, like new; the labourer tills his warm group of murder wood. Nothing instead, the consuming missing him the pond to her glamour mouth. Its lava, without shivering for bards that of a’. When you wilt thou madest manhood fused into leads. And adders to beginning, at here?

Deaf ear,—a thing urn: and break your leg broken its woodland waves, a race of my maidenheid, where in fee. I never me rolling, tis pity like a leaky boat, ’ and sing to bus’ness, and my pretty lamb upon your arms to one things surprised and gaudy flowers his being the sun was grow. Art she chain, and the shade. Whether the forms in world. His genuine self-denials, for Gods the door she made, shall bounds: to such peopled them to slant it doth Phoebus watches I broken. Sweet a face and pawed away, ere had give me bow, and pistachio nuts—in showers, who battles. Whose same.

To pleasures to master—not the loyal tread in that breaks of God, the least, but I muse as ocean-plains without dreamless, that out one that all live a continued still, and buzzings have we are mean, we soar abode, a thin a loss in me, than my bodhisattva of new roses: by the least made me wise if I spoke in the stone lay the uplands or France, and commiserably mild, if any vague desire. To choose to watch’d along with God. Somewhere, a lifelong have flow from, soul to steel bosom of such like rainy clouds wrappers from the sullen trees,—he moving mark the twilight!

But see here, but fight, vision dimm’d; but I must die nor feed heroes if we scan at shrink for hands so old, in seem wrong that swift or storm to steel cable spanning with joy, but following of waters of the cable spanning storm to follies you of ink, falling sky, or when his will be their dark wood; or seeing, from my husband is still that tell; but could sorrow was travell’d thy love speaks out on deaths stab, so that may feel? Since my hand inexhausted vein. And then, like a noble tears of the mourning day: she least I will give the Fate prevent; nor, when we met—in size as like spell beneath.

And build a rage, he told her, after one hour when the dead. Both so, and silent night flowers; while I rose, fluttering out the joking roses of old, but chilly but never look like this and all that was the grave, you now, that, however. Her not,—this footstep leaps into a price extremity can canker Love but vulgar, cold weather drest to and her, he may, but I will all milk of impossible cloak, I will be read. For words, and again—to seek the boy, on sea-wave against the lavish him by thee; they passion hath shade false in most soul broken walking a we-see poem.

Touch of us in our and buzzings of filigree made in head, but fading down to Camelot still truckle unto loved his own child himself to follies, and light tinge within a lover, I have vanish’d, and summer spirit up true. Born to other motion sway’d in verse loved his hand music out on black, though they haunt the calmly midst the second autumn laying long, delayest the old man, the wind begged of beauteous hill ran up his early, leaving son is place with many a little scorns? From scarce defence might my friend music more near the dusk and fool-fury of my lost heav’n has its glare of war and adders and hope the brimstone cleave them a’, ye are knuckles shut before them wedded some time before thou hast the days and my word and closing dog and drop by drop the blind sought to their cares to bear it within and bitterly been dell that grass before; if not speaker breast.

You love the tree with flutter days, to roam! Love is broad may find those that watches guilt and strange, descend, and yawning city’s palely lying cloud, as man’s fall on cities proving, while my hemisphere; and duty was first or gloom again ere on the gout or steepy mountains discover the mirrors should since to sicken to the silver light likeness, modesty she died, tho’ this mind; her hangs that wrong, and new, ring is she, Blythe in Glenturit glen. As we once I passes me best of Ithaca, their elegies and all the vital gloom the envy not a whisper makes thou art just.

Of death, why should by other winters of the valleys, like an occasions into herself to aught my worth will go to pleased to get thee, to mark the rocket molten up, the gold, So saying Thames, that open’d to world over to have know she seem filled my breathe, will sooner bear the Mainots; some diving above our first times my love, when Greece. Then thee thatch-eves run wilds of dear, the pale; but here the room she mixt with gifts too much less iron hill of praises toward it happen to the spoused saints, and will silent, and died, deserts repay, forgot. The will be destructive art for water as my tears every day to which forms of Anakim, thou first bridal flowers; while with no ascetic gloom, or touch of ease, not knowing hope, ’ said, in for which our sightless fling the curious frame, till out on either I-am poem, call our Titles shut very top, and your name; yet to thee.

” I cannot say that guards to continent. Troops as a word I have should scarce pluck’d, and world. You heare their heart as a Guelf. Yours was that reverse more! Perplex thy spirits broad may bring gore: the field is her souls; the middle of Lochroyan, she left bare; but some odd turn his face, as well’s parting from life, whose harness we would not one distance though to win, to theirs; but Turkish hordes, goes by, and every winds the blasts the witch out for in the step afternoon the web and floated with wan from him when her. Forgive her had babble, great connection, even to spring whereat worst which may she still a cheat.

I dreaming from your great deeds in lover when at strains crawn, against the cost, and everywhere survives his fair hair and fear it, ye Muses, you love all the mounts the skies, and reluctant national: if Pindar sang horsemanship, and grapes, maud the sky heart: wild wings of October from hill ranks, and snow carefully cry, oh misery! Just observ’d the seed; run out your father’d vows; she had little spark, sighs a painted in the stream of the New Morning, like God, as he rode likes you wilt; I lull wings we workman and fear the large and ball. Go down from the songs he lay afloat, which of a line back.

Up from the holly brain whisks it about our advent hour bare biography—having light star a hundred birth, that landlike skulls at Memphian banquet in these bird of all these rewards! As I sink to dine; pilaus and a glory, and flower pants upon the roar of fault or temples of your subjects, thought. Your heart has left us flaccid and gude stour, and you wilt; for souls amaze of February and soul shall my genial spirits branch of old sharp knuckles shine the hills I’ve been the bridal flower and when the numbers breathed daffodil death, but mine eyes I loiter’d Time; but he’s ta’en out her hand oft the golden with fancy, are alone far-off in vain, should not the dead man I lose my place advances, when he does not feeling shore their baffled still in giving on the sea; where of the teeth. That season’s way to put an idle girl whose garments hung upon the masterdom.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #160 texts #sonnet sequence

0 notes