THE LIVING PATTERN CRAWLS AND CLIMBS

 69 of #100daychallenge

It's such a relief when I put on my reading glasses to write this. Glad I bought them. Much less eyestrain.

I did not mean to go on an alcohol fast, but it just happened. I mention it now because I cleaned most of my refrigerator without benefit of wine. Nearly traumatic. I haven't quite finished cleaning off the sink and taking out the trash which will need to be done tonight, but at least I got in all the fresh fruit and leafy greens I had. I am the Condiment Queen. (John and Melinda will be laughing here.) 

I mean, I cleaned the refrigerator. Do I need to have done anything else? Do I need to give any other sort of accounting/recounting of the day? I can chalk this up to an accomplished day. I got gas ahead of the holiday and shopped at Costco as well. Laundry was done. Huzzah.

It's early morning yoga, so I am going to keep this short. I can get ready for the siege although it is quieter than I thought it would be. Perhaps there is a crack down on fireworks. Last year it was crazy. Patrick said he thought it was due to everyone having Covid money and wasting it on expensive Chinese fireworks. I've no opinion. Just grateful for the current relative silence.

THE CALYX OF THE OBOE BREAKS

The calyx of the oboe, breaks

silver and soft the flower it makes;

and next, beyond, the flute-notes seen,

now are white and now are green.

That are those sounds, what daft device,

mocking at flame, mimicking ice?

Musicians will you never rest

from strange translation of the breast?

The heart, from which all horrors come,

grows like a vine, its gourd a drum;

the living pattern crawls and climbs,

eager to bear all words and times;

trilling leaf and tinkling grass

glide into darkness clear as glass;

then the musicians cease to play,

and the world is waved away.

— Conrad Aiken, The New Yorker, August 29, 1942 issue