Wednesday, November 02, 2016

Snatches of Autumn

Working on French stuff today. My brain sluggish and coldy still. Keep feeling enticed by books, anything in fact other than what I am working on. I wanting only to read books and think about books and poems.

Went for a few walks today, to oxygenate my brain. Particularly nice walking along through a thin strip of woods with the golden crisp leaves underfoot. A feeling of intense happiness pervading me, that only such an Autumnal walk can provide. When I was in my teens and very early twenties I wrote poems about the autumn. But now I mainly think of lovely Autumn poems, such as Keats' Ode To Autumn, and A Leaf Treader by Robert Frost. I have been treading on leaves all day until I am Autumn-tired.

I'm finding such interludes very precious. Working from home means I have the news for company when I am snacking at lunch. And the news is uniformly nauseating, and now Trump suddenly looks like he might be elected. Two political catastrophes in one year.  All the vileness that has been hiding under stones is having its season in the sun, and I find it sickening.

Eventually managed to complete my work, and send it off to France and settled down to do some reading in the late afternoon. Beth came home on a mission to cook today, and fashioned a culinary triumph out of stuffed chicken breast, chard roast veggies and so on, with me peeling, and kitchen portering for her. A lovely meal which Lorraine particularly enjoyed, home from pilates. A cheery happy evening with Lorraine and Betty.

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