It's Sunday night and I confess I feel like I have a hangover - at least it feels like what people have described a hangover to me to be...
My head hurts, my spirit feels full and stuffy, and my body wants to go to bed/doesn't want to go to bed.
Time for some inspiration.
From Grasmere, for Louis Squires
Rainstorms that blacken like a headache
where mosses thicken, and the mornings
smell of jonquils, the stillness
of hung fells thronged with the primaveral
noise of waterfalls?contentment
pours in spate from every slope; the lake fills,
kingcups drown, and still it rains,
the sheep graze, their black lambs bounce
and skitter in the wet: such weather
one cannot say, here, why
one is still so happy.
Amy Clampitt (1920-1994)
It's funny how this poem awakens in me that faint reminder of storms and how I love them. Maybe its the "...and still it rains," But I think I love a good snowstorm too in a way. Maybe it is just the good feeling that comes from being inside and dry(or warm,as the case may be). And this poem is not even about a storm - more like a heavy steady rain. One of those things that just brings back long ago memories perhaps.
ReplyDeletedid Jed's wife write that?
ReplyDeleteIt's interesting to dwell on the stormy, the moody, the dark nights when we so often we are focussed on happiness and sunny days. Thanks.
ReplyDelete