Whether the weather is the T.O.E.

[mkirkpatrick]

Could we now say that they are not really legend but historical facts?

Yes,I believe there was really a king Arthur,also Joseph
of Arimathia is supposed to have brought the Holy Grail to
Glastonbury and buried it there.


regards michael.

[melanie]

They always whether the weather in Glastonbury.


Come what may rain or fine, this is where the sun does shine.


Getting back to nature is on my mind.

[AntonioLao]

Where are the offsprings of the Holy Grail?

[mkirkpatrick]

Where are the offsprings of the Holy Grail?

Good question,maybe hiding in Texas and Turkey!



regards michael.

[AntonioLao]

Or any place's name starts with a 'T'

[mkirkpatrick]

Or any place's name starts with a 'T'

You could have stumbled onto something here.




regards michael.

[austintorn@aol.com]

1816: The Year Without a Summer

In 1815, on the island of Sumbawa in Indonesia,
Tambora exploded, killing a hundred thousand people.
The Earth began to cool from the smoky ash and dust,
And sunsets became extraordinarily colorfully beauteous;

Lord Bryon dreamed that the bright sun was dying—
The spring never arrived and the summer was very trying.
Crops all over failed to grow; Ireland was famished.
Earth’s temperature had fallen by but 1.5 degrees F.

They called it the year of Eighteen Hundred and Froze to Death.

[austintorn@aol.com]

Weather forecast:

Romantic evening breezes
followed by minor earthquakes and warm slumber.

The skies will lighten by dawn.

[austintorn@aol.com]

For those interested in what happened during the Dark Ages after King Arthur died, as well as some grail stuff, see, around here:

http://www.toequest.com/forum/anecdo...trated-16.html

It begins with an excerpt and then starts 'Last Knight's Almanac' anew, the episodes appearing every so often. There are many weather conditions in it, too.

Many other pictorial pleasures reside in the thread, such as 'Flora Symbolica' and many love poems by some ToeQuestors that we all know…

[austintorn@aol.com]

Ten Days to Whitehorse

A thousand miles through the northland white,
With its four peaks and endless trails of fright
I’ll pass, with my dogs, four hours off and on,
Over frozen rivers and the tundra far beyond.

The moon will light the night like the day
As the winds whip my thermometer away—
Minus forty and lowered by the wind chill,
As I descend the mountains and the hills.

The Yukon is a quest to know what we are
And once were when we rushed for gold afar,
Flying past the furthest bar, over shone by stars.
What strength will I find where the eternal are?

What icy river might sweep me into cold embrace
Before I can finish this animal and human race?
What exhilaration may drain to solitary disgrace
In the middle of some unchecked pointless place?

What the whether of the extremes I can weather?
Whither whence I slide heretofore wench-untethered?
What fate awaits in this land of legend and lore?
Where no woman sledder has ever gone before?

I’m away and off from Fairbanks, forevermore.