View allAll Photos Tagged AuldLangSyne
Auld Lang Syne is a song I grew up with as my father was from Scotland and New Year’s Eve was a very important holiday to him.
Undies from days gone by, modelled for the 'Auld Lang Syne' category in the January 2012 Monthly Scavenger Hunt.
I had posted the actual photo before. Even though it is taken back in May of 2008 I thought it would be a fitting photo for my looking back on 2008.
2008 saw the first Afro American to be elected the leader of our neighbour to the south, it saw our own government here make the headlines as three parties wanted to form a coalition government, the auto industry seeking bailout relief from both our southern neighbour and our own government, saw global economic instability, more weird weather patterns globally which in many instances caused devastation, Greenland holding a referendum for greater independence, Fidel Castro stepped down as the head of Cuba, flooding in Brazil that took lives, rioting in Greece, terrorist attacks in India, Olympic Games were held in Bejing, an earthquake that left 69,000 dead in China, rioting in Tibet, Thai protesters storming the airport, war between Russia and Georgia, a recent avalanche in British Columbia leaving 8 snowmobilers dead, conflict in the Gaza, and numerous other headlines around the world.
To those who have lost loved ones, to those whose loved ones are away from home in other countries serving in the military, to those who are ill, those who lost their homes or jobs, my hopes and prayers that 2009 will be a better year. Here is hoping that 2009 will bring us Peace, Health and Happiness all around the globe.
To everyone here in a global community of people from all walks of life who have the common bond of photography and sharing our lives through our lenses to the world, I want to wish each and everyone of you a Very Happy New Year.
At midnight, raise your glass, kiss the one you love and join in a chorus of Auld Lang Syne. I look forward to seeing life through your eyes and lenses in 2009.
Cheers! Sharon ;-)
Thanks for stopping by and taking a peek. I hope you all know that I appreciate your comments however, awards and invites aren't necessary.
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Early die cut greeting card “For Auld Lang Syne” showing two grasping hands in an open, heart shaped, die cut lattice. Circa 1917.
(BEST VIEWED LARGE AND WITH A LAGER !!)
HAPPY NEW YEAR !!!!
Billionaire Industrialist Tony Stark's vow to stay on the wagon this New Year's Eve fell apart when his old acquaintances dropped by to help him kick the wheels off and break the axles.
Tony belched, it would take Invincible Iron Resolve to stay sober tonight. Invinshible Ir'n Reso, Risso, Reloos.
Faggedaboutit!
PARTY AT STARK'S !!!!
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Not much to say about this ad-hoc, spur-of-the-moment set up! Ta very much to Omar G who started me thinking about who else might be at a Tony Stark party. Once I had Doctor Strange then the other logical participants fell into place...
The hardest thing about this picture was that I kept dropping Bender's drink into the martini glass and had to carefully fish it out with tweezers to avoid disturbing the set-up.
Okay, the 153 pictures I took to get this one reasonably acceptable shot were also somewhat difficult...just a tad!
Gail happened to buy a couple of glitter coated little stylised Christmas trees, which with a bit of tarting up made nice decorations for the set. Most of the gems, holographic sequins and so on came out of my costume/sculpting stores.
Capn't Jack Sparrow is holding a cocktail umbrella 'cos his favourite Gilbert & Sullivan is "Pirates of Penzance" and he got it from Buttercup....
Yes that's an olive on Bender's head. Or a grape. For some reason I'm having trouble remembering exactly what went on at the party....
Hey Bender, get your shiny metal arse over here, grab a broom and help clean up!
#backtothefuture #playmobil #delorian #rip #mum #passaway #auldlangsyne
Towards the end of the year 2024, after her major stroke back in Aug 2022, we took care of mum at our home until the last day she passed away. I am grateful that I had that time of two and a half years to be with her, talking to her everyday. Her passing was quick at the hospital, took only ten hours in intensive care. Now my parents are all gone but they live in me and my children. I am with them all the way until I meet them again. Life goes on but very different without them nearby but I believe it is only short separation in physical sense not spiritual. We will meet again.
For more of my YouTube vids - www.youtube.com/user/MyToyMuseumDJ
Music used: Auld Lang Syne - DJ Williams
Posted By Xander Berkeley (Gregory) - DUB Player #hatclub #meninhats #happynewyear #californiadreamin #AuldLangSyne t.co/uXWxtgabhI #Gregory #TWD #XanderBerkeley #HillTop #TheWalkingDead December 31, 2016 at 02:16AM
Source: walkingdead.affiliatebrowser.com/dub-player-hatclub-menin...
Another year past
I remember the way the canyon begins and the south rim ends. It ends in mausoleum silence punctuated by the crunch of boot on fresh powder. It ends not with a bang but with the hiss of cold air careening over the Bright Angel. A year gone by and still I remember the howl of the wind, the hollow report of the El Tovar porch under footfall, the snowstorm punctuated by thermals from the heart of the canyon and the raptors aloft in sheets of light and snow, the shadows of clouds upon the face of sandstone and limestone in the pale yellow moonlight, and the juniper perfume of the south rim.And I still remember how it ends. Abruptly, unceremoniously into air and moonlight and the crystalline, frigid Arizona night. The somber winter sunset, the violet twilight, and the Milky Way silhouetted by juniper and ponderosa skeletons, a fragrant boneyard by turns scorched and frozen.And I remember the way the trees perch precariously upon the edge of the world as though the very rim of this unfathomable river canyon were nothing more than another patch of earth, as though the ground didn’t disappear into a dizzying abyss beneath their stalwart grip. The vast Coconino national forest and its legion of Ponderosa marching ever forward to the sandstone precipice and nothing more to mark the spot than one or two twisted pines, boughs outstretched into the breach.Another year gone and it has been my pleasure to share it with you all. I hope 2013 has treated you and yours as well as it has us; I hope 2014 finds you with family and friends and a glad heart. Comfortable in front of the fire as the snow gently falls upon the oaks outside my window, my thoughts turn of their own accord to these pines and to a December I spent along the Canyon a year ago. Even now they rise and fall like the seasons. Holding in their limbs the ashes from a thousand distant summer forest fires and at their roots the snowfalls from countless desert snow showers. They are the years: without beginning or end, eternal, fragile, each alike and unique, living and dead.
Just getting home from Jim & Haze's New Year's Party ... Bubu Bear already passed-out on the couch from celebration drinking ;-) ... I was the designated driver of course ~ so now it's #Bedtime #Lulluby for Zeus with my wore-out party voice LoL :-D ... then it's off to BEDdington to settle down for my long winters nap. ;-o #YES #AuldLangSyne #RonsiPhoneVideo #RonsSelfie #RonsiPhone #iPhoneVideo #ZeusTheBassetHound #RonsDogZeus #BassetHound #BassetHoundLife #HappyNewYear
Auld Lang Syne
Il Natale si avvicina ed il pensiero va a tanto tempo fa, quando le feste erano vissute con sentimento diverso, con meno luci e la vita ci sembrava infinita e piena di promesse, ti auguro di vivere questo periodo con la stessa innocenza di allora!
HR
.... For auld lang syne, my jo, for auld lang syne, we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet, for auld lang syne.
Happy New Year - Selamat Tahun Baru - Gelukkig Nieuwjaar - Bonne année - Feliz ano novo - Buon anno 2014
Prime Minister Theresa May hosts a Burns Supper at Downing Street to celebrate the life and works of the famous Scottish bard.
Prime Minister Theresa May hosts a Burns Supper at Downing Street to celebrate the life and works of the famous Scottish bard.
Every year my parents used to have a big New Years Eve party. It was the highlight of the year for us kids, as we'd get to stay up a bit past midnight...
This must have been taken in a quiet moment, before all the guests had arrived, as I vividly remember usually around 20 kids running around and people upstairs and downstairs, with drinks, sometimes dancing to old 45s, and my friend Cara and I devouring all the pickles and olives in the relish tray... Fun memories..
After that, there were years when our friends would go around the neighborhood banging on pots and pans with wooden spoons and come to get us and we'd happily join in the din, tromping around the neighborhood yelling and making an unholy racket...
As an adult, there have been a few fun parties, but I tend to like the quiet, stay-at-home New Years Eves, these days.
My last one in Melbourne is a nice memory. The seasons are opposite, of course, so Cameron and I sat in the back garden with all the fairy lights on, drinking champagne, and sang along to "Auld Lang Syne" and Monty Python's "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" while we could hear and see a bit of the city fireworks display over the silhouettes of the large palm trees in the park...
I have no idea what I'll be doing this year. But that's fine with me..
So, what are you doing this New Year's Eve?
Another year of capturing my 365 has come and gone. These are the books I've made of my first five years, now off to make book number six for 2018. Happy New Year!
Another year past
I remember the way the canyon begins and the south rim ends. It ends in mausoleum silence punctuated by the crunch of boot on fresh powder. It ends not with a bang but with the hiss of cold air careening over the Bright Angel. A year gone by and still I remember the howl of the wind, the hollow report of the El Tovar porch under footfall, the snowstorm punctuated by thermals from the heart of the canyon and the raptors aloft in sheets of light and snow, the shadows of clouds upon the face of sandstone and limestone in the pale yellow moonlight, and the juniper perfume of the south rim.And I still remember how it ends. Abruptly, unceremoniously into air and moonlight and the crystalline, frigid Arizona night. The somber winter sunset, the violet twilight, and the Milky Way silhouetted by juniper and ponderosa skeletons, a fragrant boneyard by turns scorched and frozen.And I remember the way the trees perch precariously upon the edge of the world as though the very rim of this unfathomable river canyon were nothing more than another patch of earth, as though the ground didn’t disappear into a dizzying abyss beneath their stalwart grip. The vast Coconino national forest and its legion of Ponderosa marching ever forward to the sandstone precipice and nothing more to mark the spot than one or two twisted pines, boughs outstretched into the breach.Another year gone and it has been my pleasure to share it with you all. I hope 2013 has treated you and yours as well as it has us; I hope 2014 finds you with family and friends and a glad heart. Comfortable in front of the fire as the snow gently falls upon the oaks outside my window, my thoughts turn of their own accord to these pines and to a December I spent along the Canyon a year ago. Even now they rise and fall like the seasons. Holding in their limbs the ashes from a thousand distant summer forest fires and at their roots the snowfalls from countless desert snow showers. They are the years: without beginning or end, eternal, fragile, each alike and unique, living and dead.
Another year past
I remember the way the canyon begins and the south rim ends. It ends in mausoleum silence punctuated by the crunch of boot on fresh powder. It ends not with a bang but with the hiss of cold air careening over the Bright Angel. A year gone by and still I remember the howl of the wind, the hollow report of the El Tovar porch under footfall, the snowstorm punctuated by thermals from the heart of the canyon and the raptors aloft in sheets of light and snow, the shadows of clouds upon the face of sandstone and limestone in the pale yellow moonlight, and the juniper perfume of the south rim.And I still remember how it ends. Abruptly, unceremoniously into air and moonlight and the crystalline, frigid Arizona night. The somber winter sunset, the violet twilight, and the Milky Way silhouetted by juniper and ponderosa skeletons, a fragrant boneyard by turns scorched and frozen.And I remember the way the trees perch precariously upon the edge of the world as though the very rim of this unfathomable river canyon were nothing more than another patch of earth, as though the ground didn’t disappear into a dizzying abyss beneath their stalwart grip. The vast Coconino national forest and its legion of Ponderosa marching ever forward to the sandstone precipice and nothing more to mark the spot than one or two twisted pines, boughs outstretched into the breach.Another year gone and it has been my pleasure to share it with you all. I hope 2013 has treated you and yours as well as it has us; I hope 2014 finds you with family and friends and a glad heart. Comfortable in front of the fire as the snow gently falls upon the oaks outside my window, my thoughts turn of their own accord to these pines and to a December I spent along the Canyon a year ago. Even now they rise and fall like the seasons. Holding in their limbs the ashes from a thousand distant summer forest fires and at their roots the snowfalls from countless desert snow showers. They are the years: without beginning or end, eternal, fragile, each alike and unique, living and dead.
Another year past
I remember the way the canyon begins and the south rim ends. It ends in mausoleum silence punctuated by the crunch of boot on fresh powder. It ends not with a bang but with the hiss of cold air careening over the Bright Angel. A year gone by and still I remember the howl of the wind, the hollow report of the El Tovar porch under footfall, the snowstorm punctuated by thermals from the heart of the canyon and the raptors aloft in sheets of light and snow, the shadows of clouds upon the face of sandstone and limestone in the pale yellow moonlight, and the juniper perfume of the south rim.And I still remember how it ends. Abruptly, unceremoniously into air and moonlight and the crystalline, frigid Arizona night. The somber winter sunset, the violet twilight, and the Milky Way silhouetted by juniper and ponderosa skeletons, a fragrant boneyard by turns scorched and frozen.And I remember the way the trees perch precariously upon the edge of the world as though the very rim of this unfathomable river canyon were nothing more than another patch of earth, as though the ground didn’t disappear into a dizzying abyss beneath their stalwart grip. The vast Coconino national forest and its legion of Ponderosa marching ever forward to the sandstone precipice and nothing more to mark the spot than one or two twisted pines, boughs outstretched into the breach.Another year gone and it has been my pleasure to share it with you all. I hope 2013 has treated you and yours as well as it has us; I hope 2014 finds you with family and friends and a glad heart. Comfortable in front of the fire as the snow gently falls upon the oaks outside my window, my thoughts turn of their own accord to these pines and to a December I spent along the Canyon a year ago. Even now they rise and fall like the seasons. Holding in their limbs the ashes from a thousand distant summer forest fires and at their roots the snowfalls from countless desert snow showers. They are the years: without beginning or end, eternal, fragile, each alike and unique, living and dead.
Another year past
I remember the way the canyon begins and the south rim ends. It ends in mausoleum silence punctuated by the crunch of boot on fresh powder. It ends not with a bang but with the hiss of cold air careening over the Bright Angel. A year gone by and still I remember the howl of the wind, the hollow report of the El Tovar porch under footfall, the snowstorm punctuated by thermals from the heart of the canyon and the raptors aloft in sheets of light and snow, the shadows of clouds upon the face of sandstone and limestone in the pale yellow moonlight, and the juniper perfume of the south rim.And I still remember how it ends. Abruptly, unceremoniously into air and moonlight and the crystalline, frigid Arizona night. The somber winter sunset, the violet twilight, and the Milky Way silhouetted by juniper and ponderosa skeletons, a fragrant boneyard by turns scorched and frozen.And I remember the way the trees perch precariously upon the edge of the world as though the very rim of this unfathomable river canyon were nothing more than another patch of earth, as though the ground didn’t disappear into a dizzying abyss beneath their stalwart grip. The vast Coconino national forest and its legion of Ponderosa marching ever forward to the sandstone precipice and nothing more to mark the spot than one or two twisted pines, boughs outstretched into the breach.Another year gone and it has been my pleasure to share it with you all. I hope 2013 has treated you and yours as well as it has us; I hope 2014 finds you with family and friends and a glad heart. Comfortable in front of the fire as the snow gently falls upon the oaks outside my window, my thoughts turn of their own accord to these pines and to a December I spent along the Canyon a year ago. Even now they rise and fall like the seasons. Holding in their limbs the ashes from a thousand distant summer forest fires and at their roots the snowfalls from countless desert snow showers. They are the years: without beginning or end, eternal, fragile, each alike and unique, living and dead.
January 1, 1943. "New York. Blowing horns on Bleecker Street on New Year's Day." Photo by Marjory Collins, Office of War Information.
Another year past
I remember the way the canyon begins and the south rim ends. It ends in mausoleum silence punctuated by the crunch of boot on fresh powder. It ends not with a bang but with the hiss of cold air careening over the Bright Angel. A year gone by and still I remember the howl of the wind, the hollow report of the El Tovar porch under footfall, the snowstorm punctuated by thermals from the heart of the canyon and the raptors aloft in sheets of light and snow, the shadows of clouds upon the face of sandstone and limestone in the pale yellow moonlight, and the juniper perfume of the south rim.And I still remember how it ends. Abruptly, unceremoniously into air and moonlight and the crystalline, frigid Arizona night. The somber winter sunset, the violet twilight, and the Milky Way silhouetted by juniper and ponderosa skeletons, a fragrant boneyard by turns scorched and frozen.And I remember the way the trees perch precariously upon the edge of the world as though the very rim of this unfathomable river canyon were nothing more than another patch of earth, as though the ground didn’t disappear into a dizzying abyss beneath their stalwart grip. The vast Coconino national forest and its legion of Ponderosa marching ever forward to the sandstone precipice and nothing more to mark the spot than one or two twisted pines, boughs outstretched into the breach.Another year gone and it has been my pleasure to share it with you all. I hope 2013 has treated you and yours as well as it has us; I hope 2014 finds you with family and friends and a glad heart. Comfortable in front of the fire as the snow gently falls upon the oaks outside my window, my thoughts turn of their own accord to these pines and to a December I spent along the Canyon a year ago. Even now they rise and fall like the seasons. Holding in their limbs the ashes from a thousand distant summer forest fires and at their roots the snowfalls from countless desert snow showers. They are the years: without beginning or end, eternal, fragile, each alike and unique, living and dead.
Another year past
I remember the way the canyon begins and the south rim ends. It ends in mausoleum silence punctuated by the crunch of boot on fresh powder. It ends not with a bang but with the hiss of cold air careening over the Bright Angel. A year gone by and still I remember the howl of the wind, the hollow report of the El Tovar porch under footfall, the snowstorm punctuated by thermals from the heart of the canyon and the raptors aloft in sheets of light and snow, the shadows of clouds upon the face of sandstone and limestone in the pale yellow moonlight, and the juniper perfume of the south rim.And I still remember how it ends. Abruptly, unceremoniously into air and moonlight and the crystalline, frigid Arizona night. The somber winter sunset, the violet twilight, and the Milky Way silhouetted by juniper and ponderosa skeletons, a fragrant boneyard by turns scorched and frozen.And I remember the way the trees perch precariously upon the edge of the world as though the very rim of this unfathomable river canyon were nothing more than another patch of earth, as though the ground didn’t disappear into a dizzying abyss beneath their stalwart grip. The vast Coconino national forest and its legion of Ponderosa marching ever forward to the sandstone precipice and nothing more to mark the spot than one or two twisted pines, boughs outstretched into the breach.Another year gone and it has been my pleasure to share it with you all. I hope 2013 has treated you and yours as well as it has us; I hope 2014 finds you with family and friends and a glad heart. Comfortable in front of the fire as the snow gently falls upon the oaks outside my window, my thoughts turn of their own accord to these pines and to a December I spent along the Canyon a year ago. Even now they rise and fall like the seasons. Holding in their limbs the ashes from a thousand distant summer forest fires and at their roots the snowfalls from countless desert snow showers. They are the years: without beginning or end, eternal, fragile, each alike and unique, living and dead.
Prime Minister Theresa May hosts a Burns Supper at Downing Street to celebrate the life and works of the famous Scottish bard.
When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.
And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words.
A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.
I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.
Title
•Happy new year
Names
•Currier & Ives.
Created / Published
•New York : Published by Currier & Ives, c1876.
Headings
•Lithographs--Hand-colored--1870-1880.
Notes
•- Currier & Ives : a catalogue raisonné / compiled by Gale Research. Detroit, MI : Gale Research, c1983, no. 2949
Call Number/Physical Location
•PGA - Currier & Ives--Happy new year (A size) [P&P]
Repository
•Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C. 20540 USA
Library of Congress Control Number
•2002695831
Reproduction Number
•LC-DIG-pga-09060 (digital file from original i LC-USZC2-2550 (color film copy slide) LC-USZ62-49696 (b&w film copy neg.)
LCCN Permalink
•https://lccn.loc.gov/2002695831
Another year past
I remember the way the canyon begins and the south rim ends. It ends in mausoleum silence punctuated by the crunch of boot on fresh powder. It ends not with a bang but with the hiss of cold air careening over the Bright Angel. A year gone by and still I remember the howl of the wind, the hollow report of the El Tovar porch under footfall, the snowstorm punctuated by thermals from the heart of the canyon and the raptors aloft in sheets of light and snow, the shadows of clouds upon the face of sandstone and limestone in the pale yellow moonlight, and the juniper perfume of the south rim.And I still remember how it ends. Abruptly, unceremoniously into air and moonlight and the crystalline, frigid Arizona night. The somber winter sunset, the violet twilight, and the Milky Way silhouetted by juniper and ponderosa skeletons, a fragrant boneyard by turns scorched and frozen.And I remember the way the trees perch precariously upon the edge of the world as though the very rim of this unfathomable river canyon were nothing more than another patch of earth, as though the ground didn’t disappear into a dizzying abyss beneath their stalwart grip. The vast Coconino national forest and its legion of Ponderosa marching ever forward to the sandstone precipice and nothing more to mark the spot than one or two twisted pines, boughs outstretched into the breach.Another year gone and it has been my pleasure to share it with you all. I hope 2013 has treated you and yours as well as it has us; I hope 2014 finds you with family and friends and a glad heart. Comfortable in front of the fire as the snow gently falls upon the oaks outside my window, my thoughts turn of their own accord to these pines and to a December I spent along the Canyon a year ago. Even now they rise and fall like the seasons. Holding in their limbs the ashes from a thousand distant summer forest fires and at their roots the snowfalls from countless desert snow showers. They are the years: without beginning or end, eternal, fragile, each alike and unique, living and dead.
Another year past
I remember the way the canyon begins and the south rim ends. It ends in mausoleum silence punctuated by the crunch of boot on fresh powder. It ends not with a bang but with the hiss of cold air careening over the Bright Angel. A year gone by and still I remember the howl of the wind, the hollow report of the El Tovar porch under footfall, the snowstorm punctuated by thermals from the heart of the canyon and the raptors aloft in sheets of light and snow, the shadows of clouds upon the face of sandstone and limestone in the pale yellow moonlight, and the juniper perfume of the south rim.And I still remember how it ends. Abruptly, unceremoniously into air and moonlight and the crystalline, frigid Arizona night. The somber winter sunset, the violet twilight, and the Milky Way silhouetted by juniper and ponderosa skeletons, a fragrant boneyard by turns scorched and frozen.And I remember the way the trees perch precariously upon the edge of the world as though the very rim of this unfathomable river canyon were nothing more than another patch of earth, as though the ground didn’t disappear into a dizzying abyss beneath their stalwart grip. The vast Coconino national forest and its legion of Ponderosa marching ever forward to the sandstone precipice and nothing more to mark the spot than one or two twisted pines, boughs outstretched into the breach.Another year gone and it has been my pleasure to share it with you all. I hope 2013 has treated you and yours as well as it has us; I hope 2014 finds you with family and friends and a glad heart. Comfortable in front of the fire as the snow gently falls upon the oaks outside my window, my thoughts turn of their own accord to these pines and to a December I spent along the Canyon a year ago. Even now they rise and fall like the seasons. Holding in their limbs the ashes from a thousand distant summer forest fires and at their roots the snowfalls from countless desert snow showers. They are the years: without beginning or end, eternal, fragile, each alike and unique, living and dead.
Another year past
I remember the way the canyon begins and the south rim ends. It ends in mausoleum silence punctuated by the crunch of boot on fresh powder. It ends not with a bang but with the hiss of cold air careening over the Bright Angel. A year gone by and still I remember the howl of the wind, the hollow report of the El Tovar porch under footfall, the snowstorm punctuated by thermals from the heart of the canyon and the raptors aloft in sheets of light and snow, the shadows of clouds upon the face of sandstone and limestone in the pale yellow moonlight, and the juniper perfume of the south rim.And I still remember how it ends. Abruptly, unceremoniously into air and moonlight and the crystalline, frigid Arizona night. The somber winter sunset, the violet twilight, and the Milky Way silhouetted by juniper and ponderosa skeletons, a fragrant boneyard by turns scorched and frozen.And I remember the way the trees perch precariously upon the edge of the world as though the very rim of this unfathomable river canyon were nothing more than another patch of earth, as though the ground didn’t disappear into a dizzying abyss beneath their stalwart grip. The vast Coconino national forest and its legion of Ponderosa marching ever forward to the sandstone precipice and nothing more to mark the spot than one or two twisted pines, boughs outstretched into the breach.Another year gone and it has been my pleasure to share it with you all. I hope 2013 has treated you and yours as well as it has us; I hope 2014 finds you with family and friends and a glad heart. Comfortable in front of the fire as the snow gently falls upon the oaks outside my window, my thoughts turn of their own accord to these pines and to a December I spent along the Canyon a year ago. Even now they rise and fall like the seasons. Holding in their limbs the ashes from a thousand distant summer forest fires and at their roots the snowfalls from countless desert snow showers. They are the years: without beginning or end, eternal, fragile, each alike and unique, living and dead.
Another year past
I remember the way the canyon begins and the south rim ends. It ends in mausoleum silence punctuated by the crunch of boot on fresh powder. It ends not with a bang but with the hiss of cold air careening over the Bright Angel. A year gone by and still I remember the howl of the wind, the hollow report of the El Tovar porch under footfall, the snowstorm punctuated by thermals from the heart of the canyon and the raptors aloft in sheets of light and snow, the shadows of clouds upon the face of sandstone and limestone in the pale yellow moonlight, and the juniper perfume of the south rim.And I still remember how it ends. Abruptly, unceremoniously into air and moonlight and the crystalline, frigid Arizona night. The somber winter sunset, the violet twilight, and the Milky Way silhouetted by juniper and ponderosa skeletons, a fragrant boneyard by turns scorched and frozen.And I remember the way the trees perch precariously upon the edge of the world as though the very rim of this unfathomable river canyon were nothing more than another patch of earth, as though the ground didn’t disappear into a dizzying abyss beneath their stalwart grip. The vast Coconino national forest and its legion of Ponderosa marching ever forward to the sandstone precipice and nothing more to mark the spot than one or two twisted pines, boughs outstretched into the breach.Another year gone and it has been my pleasure to share it with you all. I hope 2013 has treated you and yours as well as it has us; I hope 2014 finds you with family and friends and a glad heart. Comfortable in front of the fire as the snow gently falls upon the oaks outside my window, my thoughts turn of their own accord to these pines and to a December I spent along the Canyon a year ago. Even now they rise and fall like the seasons. Holding in their limbs the ashes from a thousand distant summer forest fires and at their roots the snowfalls from countless desert snow showers. They are the years: without beginning or end, eternal, fragile, each alike and unique, living and dead.
Another year past
I remember the way the canyon begins and the south rim ends. It ends in mausoleum silence punctuated by the crunch of boot on fresh powder. It ends not with a bang but with the hiss of cold air careening over the Bright Angel. A year gone by and still I remember the howl of the wind, the hollow report of the El Tovar porch under footfall, the snowstorm punctuated by thermals from the heart of the canyon and the raptors aloft in sheets of light and snow, the shadows of clouds upon the face of sandstone and limestone in the pale yellow moonlight, and the juniper perfume of the south rim.And I still remember how it ends. Abruptly, unceremoniously into air and moonlight and the crystalline, frigid Arizona night. The somber winter sunset, the violet twilight, and the Milky Way silhouetted by juniper and ponderosa skeletons, a fragrant boneyard by turns scorched and frozen.And I remember the way the trees perch precariously upon the edge of the world as though the very rim of this unfathomable river canyon were nothing more than another patch of earth, as though the ground didn’t disappear into a dizzying abyss beneath their stalwart grip. The vast Coconino national forest and its legion of Ponderosa marching ever forward to the sandstone precipice and nothing more to mark the spot than one or two twisted pines, boughs outstretched into the breach.Another year gone and it has been my pleasure to share it with you all. I hope 2013 has treated you and yours as well as it has us; I hope 2014 finds you with family and friends and a glad heart. Comfortable in front of the fire as the snow gently falls upon the oaks outside my window, my thoughts turn of their own accord to these pines and to a December I spent along the Canyon a year ago. Even now they rise and fall like the seasons. Holding in their limbs the ashes from a thousand distant summer forest fires and at their roots the snowfalls from countless desert snow showers. They are the years: without beginning or end, eternal, fragile, each alike and unique, living and dead.