"Wading neck deep in a swamp, your revolver is neither use nor ornament until you have had time to clean it" Mary H. Kingsley (1897)

Smoke

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Light-winged Smoke, Icarian bird,

Melting thy pinions in thy upward flight,

Lark without song, and messenger of dawn,

Circling above the hamlets as thy nest;

Or else, departing dream, and shadowy form

Of midnight vision, gathering up thy skirts;

By night star-veiling, and by day

Darkening the light and blotting out the sun;

Go thou my incense upward from this hearth,

And ask the gods to pardon this clear flame.

Henry David Thoreau

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“We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered.”     Tom Stoppard

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“One may have a blazing hearth in one’s soul and yet no one ever come to sit by it. Passers-by see only a wisp of smoke from the chimney and continue on their way.”   Vincent van Gogh

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6 responses

  1. Do you know The Burning of the Leaves by Laurence Binyon? I think I put it in a post once and would love to borrow one of these pictures to add to it if I can find it.

    January 4, 2011 at 1:34 pm

    • Of course you can, Lucille. I am always delighted if one of my snaps is thought worthy to be adopted!

      January 4, 2011 at 1:38 pm

    • Thanks for the link. It’s interesting how English bonfires are largely seasonal, whilst every Indian morning is heralded by the sight and smell of wafting street fires.

      January 4, 2011 at 1:43 pm

  2. Do they ever get out of control?

    January 4, 2011 at 4:07 pm

    • Not that I have seen. They are mostly pretty small affairs and someone usually stands-by until the flames have died down.

      January 4, 2011 at 4:10 pm

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