Tuesday, February 18, 2020

Soiled Light


From the west sky, a wrathful shine -- all that wild March could afford in way of sunset --- had burst forth after the cloudy day,  flooding the tired and sticky faces of the threshers, and dyeing them with a coppery light, as also the flapping garments of the women, which clung to them like dull flames.
-- Thomas Hardy, Tess of the d’Urbevilles (1892),  ch. XLVIII


Downtown Lost Angeles:
dawn comes upon this city
like a shitmist.
Will it burn off  before noon?
Will the sun  eventually  poke through ??
-- Hunter Thompson,  Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail ’72, p. 222

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