The way was black, The night was mad with lightning; I bestrode My wild young colt, upon a mountain road. And, crunching onward, like a monster’s jaws, His ringing hoof-beats their glad rhythm kept, Breaking the glassy surface of the pools, Where hidden waters slept. A million buzzing insects in the air On droning wing made sullen discord there. –José Santos Chocano (1875–1934) | | If you enjoy the Almanac Companion... | | | | | THE OLD FARMER SELECTED THESE PRODUCTS FOR YOU | | | | | | Did a friend forward you this briefing? You can sign up here. If you enjoy this newsletter, consider picking up a copy of The Old Farmer's Almanac. Your support makes this all possible! | | | | You received this email because you signed for updates from The Old Farmer's Almanac. If you do not wish to receive our regular e-mail newsletter in the future, please click here to manage preferences. *Please do not reply to this e-mail* © Yankee Publishing Inc. An Employee-Owned Company 1121 Main Street | P.O. Box 520 | Dublin, NH 03444 Contact Us View web version | | | | |
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