|Max and Merlin enjoy the sunshine and a rousing game of fetch the bouncy ball.|
1. We've officially acknowledged spring by taking the foam caps off the faucets and attaching the hoses. It's a leap of faith that there will be no more freezes. The lilacs decided to put out leaves, the grass is Corgi high, the crab apple trees are blooming. All systems go.
2. Longer daylight means more time to be outside, away from the computer. Which might be a good thing, unless you profess to be a writer. Instead of chaining myself to the computer, I'm pulling out the legal pads and pens.Take that, daylight! (Let's see if I remember how to read my own writing.) What's your preferred writing method?
3. It's harder to conceive of weaving things like scarves when the weather is warm. On the other hand, there's no rush to get them off the loom and worn either. There's time to contemplate pattern and drape. And buying more yarn. And washing more fleece to spin into yarn.
4. The Corgis enjoy the nice weather by lying out on the back porch and watching the world go by. They break up the monotony with regular patrols of the back 40 of the property, conferring with the neighbor dogs in the corners of the fence. They do like their routine. How about you? Love routine or are you a spontaneity aficionado?
5. A war poem for Memorial Day
By Julian Grenfell
The naked earth is warm with Spring,
And with green grass and bursting trees
Leans to the sun’s gaze glorying,
And quivers in the sunny breeze;
And Life is Colour and Warmth and Light,
And a striving evermore for these;
And he is dead who will not fight;
And who dies fighting has increase.
The fighting man shall from the sun
Take warmth, and life from the glowing earth;
Speed with the light-foot winds to run,
And with the trees to newer birth;
And find, when fighting shall be done,
Great rest, and fullness after dearth.
All the bright company of Heaven
Hold him in their high comradeship,
The Dog-Star, and the Sisters Seven,
Orion’s Belt and sworded hip.
The woodland trees that stand together,
They stand to him each one a friend;
They gently speak in the windy weather;
They guide to valley and ridges’ end.
The kestrel hovering by day,
And the little owls that call by night,
Bid him be swift and keen as they,
As keen of ear, as swift of sight.
The blackbird sings to him, “Brother, brother,
If this be the last song you shall sing,
Sing well, for you may not sing another;
In dreary, doubtful, waiting hours,
Before the brazen frenzy starts,
The horses show him nobler powers;
O patient eyes, courageous hearts!
And when the burning moment breaks,
And all things else are out of mind,
And only Joy-of-Battle takes
Him by the throat, and makes him blind,
Through joy and blindness he shall know,
Not caring much to know, that still
Nor lead nor steel shall reach him, so
That it be not the Destined Will.
The thundering line of battle stands,
And in the air Death moans and sings;
But Day shall clasp him with strong hands,
And Night shall fold him in soft wings.
Flanders, April, 1915