And So It Begins

The avalanche has started. It is too late for the pebbles to vote.

And it's over to you, Wallace:

Autumn Refrain

The skreak and skritter of evening gone
And grackles and sorrows of the sun,
The sorrows of the sun, too, gone... the moon and moon,
The yellow moon of words about the nightingale
In measureless measures, not a bird for me
But the name of a bird and the name of a nameless air
I have never-- shall never hear.   And yet beneath
The stillness of everything gone, and being still,
Being and sitting still, something resides,
Some skreaking and skittering residuum,
And grates these evasions of the nightingale
Though I have never been-- shall never hear that bird,
And the stillness is the key, all of it is,
The stillness is all in the key of that desolate sound.

Read that and tell me Stevens wasn't one of the best poets of the twentieth century, or any.   In this, can I be allowed a moment of indulgence of a fondness I should no longer have?   (Yes, those of you that know the etymology of the word 'fond' are chuckling.) Call it a further admission of weakness, if you wish.

Jenny kissed me when we met,
       Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
      Sweets into your list, put that in:
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,
      Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
      Jenny kissed me.

      (Leigh Hunt, 1832, "Rondeau")

Have no fear.   The Doctor will shortly return to his cantankerous, even cankerous, self.   Even the ugly, miserable and disspirited are allowed their visions of Dulcinea, always more images than facts.   Most of us simply try not to admit we have them-- or, rather, that we still esteem them even when we've long-since lost them.   But Gawd bless Dulcinea.   She reminds us who we were when we were better people--- before, before, before.

      ADDENDUM: Don't worry, the cyncism and irony that each of you expects will soon return, no doubt "in spades." It's only a matter of time.   As Danny Glover oh-so-famously said, "I'm too old for this shit."   (This is probably now officially true.)   And of that, enough-- I've said far, far too much.

      UPDATE: The treat of skreaking arm-saws and pounding hammers. Happy Happy Joy Joy.