seems
It's all in the mind's eye - "And," from Longfellow, "things are not what they seem," scroll down, raiding a long, heavy poem for just one line. Even to print it may seem Morose, who despite sometime appearances does not live here - though at this age one is aware that one is being followed. Stalked.
Aside somewhat but not entirely so, "A Psalm of Life", the first time I heard it was in class at Cove School, maybe 8th grade where Virginia Parker made life exciting, Warren Middlemas got up and recited it when everyone else was memorizing something simple. Another first was when he stood up and began, "'If' by Rudyard Kipling." Memorable and moving at the time as I listened and got it, lodged in my mind these seventy years. Nearly every class has its brilliant one and he was ours at Cove School from first grade through eighth. "If" and "A Psalm of Life." Bright, witty, good ball player, left-handed hitter who, in this morning's chilly weather, might arrive at school in that signature maroon corded pullover sweater. Mama knitted my sweaters, many of which I still have and some wear, and I wondered if Cecelia M knitted his.
The top image, graying dark sky behind two heavenly objects, we can see it from our bed and are looking every morning, usually before daylight, earlier than today but we slept late, which is a good thing seldom happening, looking every morning, looking out, looking up, looking forward to the January 22 conjunction of Venus and Jupiter. There they are in the top image, "And things are not what they seem." From earth it seems that they may soon collide, yet they are light seconds or light minutes apart, precisely how many depends on whether - in the same planetary plane (including with us earthlings), in their elliptical orbit - they happen to be at the same degree point in regard to the sun, or 180° apart. Next Tuesday they will seem to collide, but Longfellow again.
More down and earthy,
it's intriguing at night, if only I notice, seeing the lights of the buildings across US98 from here reflected in the pond in front of them, as shows somewhat in the above picture. Also puzzling, because when the sun comes up there's no pond there, and so things are not what they seem. At night the pond reflects the buildings' light. Comes light, it dawns: in the darkness of night, the long, heavy metal arm that holds the traffic lights out over the road divides in two the lights of the buildings and gives the appearance of lower buildings, their light reflected in water that isn't there by day. It's an illusion and in the darkness things are not what they seem, either in heaven or on earth.
Or in relationships.
Either between the two people ...
Just so, which seems better: to claim victory over the competition and be with one you love more than they love you, or to claim surety for the future by being with one who loves you more than you love them ...
Lunch yesterday: "The Empty Shell." After consuming the first oyster, I drip Tabasco in the empty shell and then slightly touch the other eleven in the heat before slurping
Car, thanks, Norm, I chose one.
A Psalm of Life
BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,— act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.