I’m sick and tired of opening up the dryer only to discover my 25yr old son’s clothes he did three days ago. So I decided to be a good father and hang them for the townspeople to witness the revolt. If you are local, feel free to swing by and salute the flag and American Eagle boxers!
I suppose you hung his sheets from the window when he was potty training and had a bad night.
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Gosh Sean;
Somebody really needs to invest in some chicken feed!!
Best, David Meashey
Youre catching the inner rooster quite well!
I’d like to thank Sean for getting me on this skeletal rooster jag. I feel so creative now; it’s changed my life.
I know you guys have been preparing for Halloween since July 5, but it’s still quite a small event here. Tales of Halloween have slowly been gathering momentum over the last decade, and some years we have even gotten a trick-or-treater or three at the house.
CAUTION: Don’t blame me if you now can’t visit your shed or lanai at night. I’m currently blaming Cliff for this LargeScale Centralian tale.
Quoth the Rooster
A cautionary Halloween Tale, with apologies to Edgar Allan Poe and of course to those of you who read this after dark using your James Earl Jones voice.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I modelled, weak and bleary,
Over many quaint and curious plans of railroad track and more—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a flapping,
As of something gently tapping—tapping near my workshop door.
“‘Tis a tarp,” I muttered, “snapping—snapping near my workshop door—
Only this, and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was cold that dark October,
And fresh solder’s ghostly ember threw its glow across the floor.
Eagerly I sought perfection, in my freight car’s dull reflection—
When there came that odd inflection—clucking at my workshop door.
“‘Tis a chicken,” said I, chuckling, “lost and knocking at my door—
Only this, and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Bird,” said I, “or phantom scratcher, kindly cease thy noisy roar!
See, I’m working—go, I pray thee!” But the flapping did distract me—
‘ For the latch gave way to mayhem as I opened up the door.
Then there strutted forth the Rooster, proud and pompous through the door—
Strutting proud, and nothing more.
Then this fowl of fiery feather stood unmoving there forever,
Perched upon my water tower, just above the layout floor.
Not a tweet nor crow he uttered, not a feather faintly fluttered,
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “What strange omen’s this in store?”
Then the bird spoke clear and loudly, booming out a single lore—
Crowing harshly, “Amtrak! More!”
Much I marvelled, hearing plainly language such as fowls disdainly
Use not when they wake the morning farm beyond my workshop door.
But his tone was grave, commanding—feathers bright, his stance demanding—
As he crowed with reprimanding: “Build ye Amtrak—nothing more!
Lay thy freight cars in the shadows—build ye streamliners further more!
” Cawed the Rooster, “Amtrak! More!”
“Prophet!” said I, “bird infernal!—prophet still, though not eternal!
By the rails and spikes immortal, by the glue that smells indoors—
Tell me truly, cursed poultry, must I yield my freight trains wholly?
Shall my branch lines fall to folly, to a name railfans abhor!?
” Quoth the Rooster, “Amtrak more!”
And the Rooster, never flitting, still is perching, still is perching
On my scratch built water tower, just above my workshop door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a diesel’s headlight gleaming,
While the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating fighting for,
Modelling —Amtrak, evermore…
Special thanks to Cliff for the nightmare inspiring photo and to Edgar Allan Poe for The Raven.
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Another stupefying, staggering and stunning work, Bill!
Bravo!! Bellissimo!!
Ooh is this an omen?
You need to put that stuff in a darker corner and stock up on silver paint!
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Which part? That’s your shop, right?
Gosh Cliff;
I think it needs to be Darth Vader with a big black comb.
Cush! Cush!, David Meashey
P.S. I remember when N&W 1218 was still in steam excursion service. That big engine would be coupled to the train, and those two cross-compound air pumps would start cycling. It sounded like Darth Vader was reading a Playboy magazine!