Yesterday, Sunday, was as dreary as the last week of clouds and intermittent rain. But still, it put me in mind of poetry, oddly enough. One of my favorites is 'Pippa Passes' by Robert Browning, the most recognizable passage of which is (for most folk):
The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in his Heaven -
All's right with the world!
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in his Heaven -
All's right with the world!
Doesn't exactly call to mind the weather we've been having for the last week, does it? But, somehow, it fit. And it's because I had an absolutely delicious experience coming home yesterday evening around sundown.
Just as I reached the foot of the hill, the clouds parted and the sun came blazing through, lighting the tops of the trees, setting the reds and golds off, then blazing back off the windows on the fronts of the houses. The sky changed from gray to a light lavender with green, peach, and gold undertones, and just that quickly, in the space of a breath, it was gone.
Just as I reached the foot of the hill, the clouds parted and the sun came blazing through, lighting the tops of the trees, setting the reds and golds off, then blazing back off the windows on the fronts of the houses. The sky changed from gray to a light lavender with green, peach, and gold undertones, and just that quickly, in the space of a breath, it was gone.
I actually stopped breathing for a moment, it was so beautiful. Didn't notice it was cool or damp, forgot the ache in my hips and back, forgot the cares and worries of the day - just smiled, as the heavens smiled back. Indeed, all's right with the world, if only for a moment. Namaste.
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