Sunday, 24 August 2014
The nights getting shorter. Autumn is arriving early, or so the experts are suggesting. The cycle continues like the Church calendar. Each year follows the same pattern in new and different ways; the new and the familiar threading together to make a new piece of material in the patchwork of our lives.
My son and his friend went berrying yesterday, gathering blackberries and whinberries. I asked them if they were making jam, 'No', they replied, 'We're making wine.' This will be the second lot; I hadn't realised they had already joined the birds in helping themselves to the elderberries from the back garden. Hope it tastes good.
Saturday, 24 May 2014
Shakespeare, he knew a thing or two.
They that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow:
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces
And husband nature's riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet
Though to itself it only live and die,
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.