Wednesday 24th June 09

Time flows so effortlessly at this time of year. Days rise and fall like a gentle sigh from a lady whose bosom quivers in delicious expectation at the sight of her secret love passing by. The solstice has passed and stars wink in and out across the night sky. Moonlight opens up the short summer nights with piercing cold rays; I lie below looking up at the heavens as through a sheet of translucent blue ice

I’m happy and I’m sad and I sit under the climbing hydrangea as it flows over the wall from next door and I watch the spider stalking the bees on the clematis and I wonder should I intervene? Not for the bees but for myself for if I can avert tragedy should I? I am reminded for some reason of the W H Auden poem “Stop all the Clocks” especially the last verse but not really sure why.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood
For nothing now can ever come to any good

Wimbledon has started here so Nick is probably going goggle eyed enjoying his 2 weeks a year. Weather today has been warm and it’s nice to be in the cool house for a little while to write this. Took the train from Skipton to Carlisle with Nick the other week and that is a great trip as there is nothing but countryside and picturesque stations on the whole of the route and the weather was glorious to boot...worth doing. Look it up here..

http://www.settle-carlisle.co.uk/

I want to take a trip on a steam train sometime soon..Here looks good as I’ve never been to the Scottish Highlands yet. Should do that sometime soon.

http://www.steamtrain.info/


Here is the full poem by W H Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves

He was my North, my South, my East and West
My working week and my Sunday rest
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood
For nothing now can ever come to any good