@habbymomma.bsky.social
~That crazy white lady
~Everyone's mom
~Swears a lot
~Reader & library worker
~Knit & crochet
~Habs, KK, Ryan Suzuki, Drouin, Lehkonen, K'Andre, Mika
~ADHD, PTSD, depression,
~Agnostic Pagan
~Liberal Independent
~Queer, Poly, She/Her
~Everyone's mom
~Swears a lot
~Reader & library worker
~Knit & crochet
~Habs, KK, Ryan Suzuki, Drouin, Lehkonen, K'Andre, Mika
~ADHD, PTSD, depression,
~Agnostic Pagan
~Liberal Independent
~Queer, Poly, She/Her
The Frost Spirit comes! and the quiet lake shall feel
The torpid touch of his glazing breath.
- John Greenleaf Whittier, American poet (1807-92)
The torpid touch of his glazing breath.
- John Greenleaf Whittier, American poet (1807-92)
December 1, 2025 at 3:17 PM
The Frost Spirit comes! and the quiet lake shall feel
The torpid touch of his glazing breath.
- John Greenleaf Whittier, American poet (1807-92)
The torpid touch of his glazing breath.
- John Greenleaf Whittier, American poet (1807-92)
If December be changeable and mild,
The whole winter will remain a child.
–Weather folklore
The whole winter will remain a child.
–Weather folklore
December 1, 2025 at 3:15 PM
If December be changeable and mild,
The whole winter will remain a child.
–Weather folklore
The whole winter will remain a child.
–Weather folklore
The USS Newport News (SSN 750) has returned to its home port after a six-month deployment, greeted by families who braved the cold to welcome their sailors home. On behalf of the entire City of Newport News, we extend our heartfelt pride and gratitude for all you accomplished during this mission.
November 20, 2025 at 10:43 PM
The USS Newport News (SSN 750) has returned to its home port after a six-month deployment, greeted by families who braved the cold to welcome their sailors home. On behalf of the entire City of Newport News, we extend our heartfelt pride and gratitude for all you accomplished during this mission.
The rose has taken off her tire of red—
The mullein-stalk its yellow stars have lost,
And the proud meadow-pink hangs down her head
Against earth’s chilly bosom, witched with frost.
–Alice Cary (1820–71)
The mullein-stalk its yellow stars have lost,
And the proud meadow-pink hangs down her head
Against earth’s chilly bosom, witched with frost.
–Alice Cary (1820–71)
November 20, 2025 at 3:14 PM
The rose has taken off her tire of red—
The mullein-stalk its yellow stars have lost,
And the proud meadow-pink hangs down her head
Against earth’s chilly bosom, witched with frost.
–Alice Cary (1820–71)
The mullein-stalk its yellow stars have lost,
And the proud meadow-pink hangs down her head
Against earth’s chilly bosom, witched with frost.
–Alice Cary (1820–71)
And the red leaves by the roadside
Fell and floated one by one.
—Hattie Tyng Griswold (1842–1909)
Fell and floated one by one.
—Hattie Tyng Griswold (1842–1909)
November 19, 2025 at 5:35 PM
And the red leaves by the roadside
Fell and floated one by one.
—Hattie Tyng Griswold (1842–1909)
Fell and floated one by one.
—Hattie Tyng Griswold (1842–1909)
Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods,
And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.
–William Allingham (1824–89)
And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.
–William Allingham (1824–89)
November 19, 2025 at 5:27 PM
Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods,
And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.
–William Allingham (1824–89)
And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.
–William Allingham (1824–89)
Now by great marshes wrapt in mist,
Or past some river's mouth,
Throughout the long, still autumn day
Wild birds are flying south.
–Wilfred Campbell (1858–1819)
Or past some river's mouth,
Throughout the long, still autumn day
Wild birds are flying south.
–Wilfred Campbell (1858–1819)
November 16, 2025 at 5:36 PM
Now by great marshes wrapt in mist,
Or past some river's mouth,
Throughout the long, still autumn day
Wild birds are flying south.
–Wilfred Campbell (1858–1819)
Or past some river's mouth,
Throughout the long, still autumn day
Wild birds are flying south.
–Wilfred Campbell (1858–1819)
In slack wind of November
The fog forms and shifts.
All the world comes out again
When the fog lifts.
–Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830–94)
The fog forms and shifts.
All the world comes out again
When the fog lifts.
–Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830–94)
November 15, 2025 at 3:45 PM
In slack wind of November
The fog forms and shifts.
All the world comes out again
When the fog lifts.
–Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830–94)
The fog forms and shifts.
All the world comes out again
When the fog lifts.
–Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830–94)
Thunder in November, a fertile year to come.
November 15, 2025 at 3:43 PM
Thunder in November, a fertile year to come.
Who said November’s face was grim?
Who said her voice was harsh and sad?
I heard her sing in wood paths dim,
I met her on the shore, so glad,
So smiling, I could kiss her feet!
There never was a month so sweet.
–Lucy Larcom (1824-93)
Who said her voice was harsh and sad?
I heard her sing in wood paths dim,
I met her on the shore, so glad,
So smiling, I could kiss her feet!
There never was a month so sweet.
–Lucy Larcom (1824-93)
November 15, 2025 at 3:42 PM
Who said November’s face was grim?
Who said her voice was harsh and sad?
I heard her sing in wood paths dim,
I met her on the shore, so glad,
So smiling, I could kiss her feet!
There never was a month so sweet.
–Lucy Larcom (1824-93)
Who said her voice was harsh and sad?
I heard her sing in wood paths dim,
I met her on the shore, so glad,
So smiling, I could kiss her feet!
There never was a month so sweet.
–Lucy Larcom (1824-93)
Summer sings one last refrain, then exits south, pursued by rain.
—The Old Farmer's Almanac, 1991
—The Old Farmer's Almanac, 1991
November 15, 2025 at 3:37 PM
Summer sings one last refrain, then exits south, pursued by rain.
—The Old Farmer's Almanac, 1991
—The Old Farmer's Almanac, 1991
Shorter and shorter now the twilight clips
The days, as though the sunset gates they crowd.
–Alice Cary (1820–71)
The days, as though the sunset gates they crowd.
–Alice Cary (1820–71)
November 15, 2025 at 3:33 PM
Shorter and shorter now the twilight clips
The days, as though the sunset gates they crowd.
–Alice Cary (1820–71)
The days, as though the sunset gates they crowd.
–Alice Cary (1820–71)
"Of autumn's wine, now drink your fill; the frost's on the pumpkin, and snow's on the hill."
–The 1993 Old Farmer's Almanac
–The 1993 Old Farmer's Almanac
November 15, 2025 at 3:18 PM
"Of autumn's wine, now drink your fill; the frost's on the pumpkin, and snow's on the hill."
–The 1993 Old Farmer's Almanac
–The 1993 Old Farmer's Almanac
November 13, 2025 at 1:25 AM
Hide not your talents.
They for use were made.
What's a sundial in the shade?
—Benjamin Franklin, American statesman (1706-1790)
They for use were made.
What's a sundial in the shade?
—Benjamin Franklin, American statesman (1706-1790)
November 7, 2025 at 1:57 PM
Hide not your talents.
They for use were made.
What's a sundial in the shade?
—Benjamin Franklin, American statesman (1706-1790)
They for use were made.
What's a sundial in the shade?
—Benjamin Franklin, American statesman (1706-1790)
The geese honked overhead.
I ran to catch the skein
To watch them as they fled
In a long wavering line.
–May Sarton (1912–95)
I ran to catch the skein
To watch them as they fled
In a long wavering line.
–May Sarton (1912–95)
November 6, 2025 at 3:31 PM
The geese honked overhead.
I ran to catch the skein
To watch them as they fled
In a long wavering line.
–May Sarton (1912–95)
I ran to catch the skein
To watch them as they fled
In a long wavering line.
–May Sarton (1912–95)
A person travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it.
—George Moore, Irish writer (1852-1933)
—George Moore, Irish writer (1852-1933)
November 4, 2025 at 3:44 PM
A person travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it.
—George Moore, Irish writer (1852-1933)
—George Moore, Irish writer (1852-1933)
The soft November days are here,
The aftermath of blossom's year.
–Sara Louisa (Vickers) Oberholtzer (1841–1930)
The aftermath of blossom's year.
–Sara Louisa (Vickers) Oberholtzer (1841–1930)
November 3, 2025 at 4:02 PM
The soft November days are here,
The aftermath of blossom's year.
–Sara Louisa (Vickers) Oberholtzer (1841–1930)
The aftermath of blossom's year.
–Sara Louisa (Vickers) Oberholtzer (1841–1930)
November, month of mornings, misty-bright
With golden light—
Month when the many-tinted leaf
Lies thick upon the moss below,
While to and fro
The breezes moan, as if in grief.
–Mortimer Collins (1827–76)
With golden light—
Month when the many-tinted leaf
Lies thick upon the moss below,
While to and fro
The breezes moan, as if in grief.
–Mortimer Collins (1827–76)
November 3, 2025 at 3:46 PM
November, month of mornings, misty-bright
With golden light—
Month when the many-tinted leaf
Lies thick upon the moss below,
While to and fro
The breezes moan, as if in grief.
–Mortimer Collins (1827–76)
With golden light—
Month when the many-tinted leaf
Lies thick upon the moss below,
While to and fro
The breezes moan, as if in grief.
–Mortimer Collins (1827–76)
Dull November brings the blast,
Then the leaves are whirling fast.
—Sara Coleridge, English poet (1802-52)
Then the leaves are whirling fast.
—Sara Coleridge, English poet (1802-52)
November 3, 2025 at 3:28 PM
Dull November brings the blast,
Then the leaves are whirling fast.
—Sara Coleridge, English poet (1802-52)
Then the leaves are whirling fast.
—Sara Coleridge, English poet (1802-52)
For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
–William Shakespeare (1564–1616)
–William Shakespeare (1564–1616)
October 31, 2025 at 2:16 PM
For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
–William Shakespeare (1564–1616)
–William Shakespeare (1564–1616)