First, there was this...
Then, a few minutes later, there was this ...
It was a 'froggy' morning, that 19 November 2015, my friends, an early, drab day besotted with an insinuating damp that got deep under one's skin, like a slow driver in the fast lane, like a creamed coffee served congealed, like a skunk-stenched beer drunk warm and overpriced at a ballpark, while jet planes, on mist-begotten tarmacs, delivered anew and departed forlorn, as haze fell upon Washington National Airport, obscuring cranes stretched over Washington, D.C. —its capital monuments absent in the gloom— lurking like monstrous shadows across a swollen Potomac River, there and then gone.
Folk of a certain age still wistfully remember this airport with the name of the nation's first president (its original name), rather than that of the fortieth.
- The penultimate paragraph above was written with an implied apology to Edward George Bulwer-Lytton.
- Pic(k) of the Week: one in a weekly series of personal photos, usually posted on Saturdays, and often, but not always (as today), with a good fermentable as the subject.
- Commercial reproduction requires explicit permission, as per Creative Commons.
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