Language warning, but I’m about done with this nonsense.

Stuart was making his way down the sidewalk a few paces in front of me. A cold wind coming down from the hills that ringed the city blew an odd bit of trash down the dirty, snow-covered street next to us. In the dim light of the full moon, I could see it was a discarded MRE wrapper, probably from one of the aid convoys that had arrived a few days before.

I swept my eyes at the broken windows and roofs across the street for what felt like the thousandth time since we’d stepped out of an alley half a mile back. Snipers almost never made their way down this far into town, but I couldn’t see far enough out into the hills for it to matter, and I had to look at something in between looking for a place to take cover every few seconds.

The wind caught the sweat running down the back of my neck, bringing a chill down my spine. Steam was starting to stream off the curly hair below Stuart’s watch cap, so he was feeling it too.

At my feet, the faint glow of a gas lamp came through a crack in the old curtains someone had hung against a basement window. The locals came out during the day, especially if there was fog, but there wasn’t any food or fuel to be scavenged at this hour. The stumps of trees that used to line the street, cut off as low as they could to gather something to keep folks warm, didn’t offer anything to them after dark, either.

Only fools and people up to no good were out and about after dark. I’m still not sure which category best fit us.

I was glad Stuart didn’t take a moment to look around while my legs were silhouetted, though. Drawing someone’s attention wasn’t a good idea just then.

We came to an intersection with a bigger road, wide enough that there was a cement median in the center. Under the light of the moon, I could see a few dark spots in the concrete where potshots from the hills tagged someone recently.

Another shiver ran down my spine as I strained to see any movement first to our right, then our left.

A distant thunder broke the silence, followed a few seconds later by the crash of something getting hit a few blocks away.

Stuart took a knee in the last doorway, disappearing into the deeper shadow. I did my best to blend into the sidewalk a few steps behind him. We both did our best to look up and down both roads while we caught our breath and waited to see what would happen next. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the little sliver of light behind us wink out.

“South of us,” Stuart breathed out quietly. “Half a click or so?”

He couldn’t see me, but I shrugged. “Far enough, but too close. How much further?”

Stuart opened his mouth to answer, but then stopped and looked to his right.

A sound, piercing the quiet darkness, carried on the wind as another shell crumped into the city. Music, played on violin or something like that, came from the opposite direction of where the mortars were landing.

We stayed still and listened, both to the tune and for the sound of shots or impacts getting closer. Far off, we heard the staccato firing of some rifles, a couple more explosions, then nothing but the music. My breath came out in little puffs as we waited to see if the folks up in the hills had run out of shells or had just gotten bored.

I saw Stuart’s smile in the moonlight as he pushed off from his doorstep and start jogging across the intersection.

“God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay……” His low tenor rose to echo off of the pockmarked buildings around us.

Cursing under my breath, I moved to keep up. Hopefully, we’d be at our destination and safely warming ourselves next to a fire before the musician finished his carol.

Here is the second batch of MidJourney pictures generated from a few lyrics of Christmas carols.

What do you all think?

I’m dreaming, of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know….

I’ll be home for Christmas

Grandma got run over by a reindeer, walking home from our house Christmas Eve

I’ve been playing about with MidJourney a bit more lately. It’s better than endlessly scrolling when writing just isn’t going to work.

Anyway, I got the bright idea to do a series of posts showing what the tool can do from short prompts. Usually, I give it a few sentences worth of description, but this time, all I’m giving is a line or two from a Christmas carol.

Here’s what the first batch gave me, along with the prompt I used to generate the image:

Walking in a Winter Wonderland….

Santa Claus is Coming to Town

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

Jingle bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the Way!

I’ll have more over the next few days.

Life’s full of those wonderful, little moments. This morning is one of them.

It’s that moment when breakfast is cooked, served, and cleaned up. The wife and boy child are off to do whatever it is they have planned.

You take that first sip on a hot cup of coffee, and reflect on how a quiet, peaceful Saturday will do you good. A good day to start the Christmas deep clean, maybe do a little baking. She Who Shall Not Be Named specifically asked about sandbakel, and I need to find my krumkake iron.

Then, that little voice, the one with the undetermined, vaguely Eastern European accent, pipes up and says “Do we have any beets? Today would be a good day for krasniy borsch, or maybe hand made pierogies.”

Then a different voice says, this time in a distinctly Bavarian accent, “Or maybe you could look up a recipe for leberkase? We haven’t had that in years!”

And then, a deep voice, redolent of Juhla Mokka and Lapin Kulta says just one word: “Karjalanpiirakka”.

Sigh. I’ll finish the coffee and then see how motivated I really am.

Breakfast is fluffy,
And I’m a little scruffy

CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP

A waffle shaped like Texas!

A wise man once told me that the reason evil gets away with so much is mostly because decent people don’t want to serve time – Larry Correia, American Paladin, Dust Sacrifice