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For courage mixed with prudence is not foolish, And moderation betters recklessness.

#Roncesvalles #Spain #church #winter #snow #street

"The Ice-Cart" by Wilfred Gibson

Upon a far untravelled floe, Beneath a gentle drift of snow -- Snow drifting gently, fine and white, Out of the endless Polar night, Falling and falling evermore Upon that far untravelled shore, Till I was buried fathoms deep Beneath the cold white drifting sleep -- Sleep drifting deep, Deep drifting sleep. . . .

#poetry

#alaska #extreme skiing #Black and White

"Brueghel's Winter" by Walter de la Mare

Jagg'd mountain peaks and skies ice-green Wall in the wild, cold scene below. Churches, farms, bare copse, the sea In freezing quiet of winter show; Where ink-black shapes on fields in flood Curling, skating, and sliding go. To left, a gabled tavern; a blaze; Peasants; a watching child; and lo, Muffled, mute--beneath naked trees In sharp perspective set a-row-- Trudge huntsmen, sinister spears aslant, Dogs snuffling behind them in the snow; And arrowlike, lean, athwart the air Swoops into space a crow. But flame, nor ice, nor piercing rock, Nor silence, as of a frozen sea, Nor that slant inward infinite line Of signboard, bird, and hill, and tree, Give more than subtle hint of him Who squandered here life's mystery.

#duck #Belarus #winter

"Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden

Sundays too my father got up early And put his clothes on in the blueback cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. When the rooms were warm, he'd call, and slowly I would rise and dress, fearing the chronic angers of that house, Speaking indifferently to him, who had driven out the cold and polished my good shoes as well. What did I know, what did I know of love's austere and lonely offices?

#poetry

#Bucharest #snow #winter #dog

"'Ah, Great Expectations!'" by Richard Brautigan

Sam likes to say, “Ah, great expectations!” at least three or four times in every conversation. He is twelve years old. Nobody knows what he is talking about when he says it. Sometimes it makes people feel uncomfortable.

"Fuck Me Like Fried Potatoes" by Richard Brautigan

Fuck me like fried potatoes on the most beautifully hungry morning of my God-damn life.

"We Stopped at Perfect Days" by Richard Brautigan

We stopped at perfect days and got out of the car. The wind glanced at her hair. It was as simple as that. I turned to say something--

#Erika Larsen #people who walk with reindeer #hunter #mountain #dog #sami #europe

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