April 8th, 2006

bush

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone

Oh, joy.  LJ has a new graphical interface, or whatever you call the process for adding pix to a post.  And it means I don't know how to do what I want.  Crap.  Now, I'll have to learn a whole new bunch of procedures to post pix with text.  I wish they'd quit "improving" this platform so much.  Anyway, here's my post on yesterday

I worked about three and a half hours finishing the platform for the new shed yesterday (see 2nd picture, below).  <lj user="collinsmom"> got home early, so we went and got some block for the retaining wall and went back out to Wilderstead just in advance of a thunderstorm.  The picture of the stream, below, shows the creek swollen with water before the storm.  Got the block laid (only two more loads to go), and then everything cut loose.

Thunder boomed and rattled -- and echoed -- over the holler.  We were snug in the cabin, but it was really coming down outside.  When it slacked off some, we went out to investigate.  It was too dark to take a picture of the stream, but the water was even higher and faster than shown, below.  Definitely too dangerous to try crossing.  And little streamlets were flowing all over the place, showing me where I'll eventually have to do all sorts of ditching and draining.


No getting over this No getting over this
"Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream."
On the level On the level

Impact platform for new shed ready to start laying the retaining wall.


saxon cross

The Stretcher-Bearer

My stretcher is one scarlet stain,
And as I tries to scrape it clean,
I tell you wot -- I'm sick with pain
For all I've 'eard, for all I've seen;
Around me is the 'ellish night,
And as the war's red rim I trace,
I wonder if in 'Eaven's height,
Our God don't turn away 'Is Face.
I don't care 'oose the Crime may be;
I 'olds no brief for kin or clan;
I 'ymns no 'ate: I only see
As man destroys his brother man;
I waves no flag: I only know,
As 'ere beside the dead I wait,
A million 'earts is weighed with woe,
A million 'omes is desolate.

In drippin' darkness, far and near,
All night I've sought them woeful ones.
Dawn shudders up and still I 'ear
The crimson chorus of the guns.
Look! like a ball of blood the sun
'Angs o'er the scene of wrath and wrong . . .
"Quick! Stretcher-bearers on the run!"
O Prince of Peace! 'Ow long, 'ow long?

-- Robert Service