Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Rain, Rain, Go Away

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

So that’s where that line comes from: “Into each life some rain must fall.”  I picked this poem because Monday was like that, cold as March with a fine rain coming down sideways.  Sunday night there was a terrific wind storm with lots of rain, which to my mind means we were owed a cool but sunny Monday.  But our weather can’t seem to figure out what month we’re in, much less the daily weather patterns.  I'm in a golf league and after two meetings, I haven't played a full game yer.  Got caught in a thunderstorm on Hole Six the first Thursday, and this past Thursday the meet was cancelled because of rain.  And to think we were in a drought a month ago.

I finall got a memory stick with Becky’s England photos on it.  Here’s the one I’ve been waiting for:

Isn’t that great?  My sleuth Betsy Devonshire would be so proud!  The picture was taken about a block from our hotel.  Pure serendipity, we found it walking back from the Paddington Undergroud station..

Despite the depressed poem at the top, I’ve been feeling optimistic – at least about Knit Your Own Murder.  I’ve gotten some good reports on the first chapters I’ve read in my two writers groups.  So maybe my must hasn’t died.  Good to know.


Christine Thresh said...

Well, I hope your "must" has not died.

Monica Ferris said...

That was a last-second addition to the post, and obviously I didn't take a second look at it. I meant "muse," that strange creature who whispers in my ear, offering sometimes great ideas.

Betty Hechtman said...

Isn't it amazing how that muse can show up and suddenly you can't type fast enough to keep up.