Word: fogs
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...three poems can be summed up in a word: esoteric. Both Charles Neuhauser's "Sunday in Jersey" and Douglas Freelander's "Death of the Old Singer" start off with some promise of entertainment for the general reader, but plunge headlong into a thick fog before they are half done. "Billet Doux," by Robert Layzer, is simply a nifty little sentiment, niftily expressed...
...fog of doubt and faintheartedness settled across Western Europe. NATO was in trouble. Short of steel, coal and confidence, the U.S.'s Western allies were getting nervous about the mounting pressures of rearmament on their precarious economies. Britain, facing near-bankruptcy, reluctantly slowed down its rearmament program (see below). France, which seems to lack the moral purpose to save itself, could not make up its mind to ratify the Pleven (European army) plan, which the French themselves originated. The Benelux countries talked of pulling out of the European army: if Britain wouldn't join, if the French would...
Spiraling in the violent updrafts of the thunderhead, his ship was quickly smothered in grey, impenetrable fog. Rain lashed at the canopy. The outside air temperature dropped. Comte continued to circle, nose down, while his plane climbed faster and faster-like a man moving upstairs while strolling slowly downward on a racing escalator. At 11,000 ft. the rain turned to hail that tore noisily at the wings. The airspeed indicator froze, and the rate-of-climb indicator stuck at 5 ft. per second. The needle of the glider's sealed barograph reached its limit...
Like a Crazy Clock. Comte turned on oxygen as he passed 16,000 ft., watched his altimeter going "round and round like the hands of a crazy clock." After 15 minutes it registered 32,000 ft. The fog turned thin and milky, letting a little sunlight filter through. Suddenly there was a blinding flash. Said Comte afterward: "The whole cloud lit up, with me inside it. I felt lightning hit the top of my head a sharp blow and run through my hands into the control column. The plane continued flying steady, but I was scared...
Comte leveled out on a compass course for Bloemfontein and nosed out of the cloud. He was flying in the open, but all around him were high fog and more clouds. Comte headed into the fog, flew through steady downdrafts until he broke out again at 6,000 ft., 70 miles from where he had started his high, wild ride. For an hour and a half he tried to get around the rain fronts that hemmed him in, but he was finally forced down at Vredefort, 150 miles from his destination...