Wednesday, December 7, 2011

notes

On the seventh day of December...

 ...three seasons seemed to collide into one another.

 Because the weather was springlike, we took a walk around the block while it was yet early, a gentle breeze stirred and a light cotton sweater sufficed. The gutters we strolled past were level with newly-raked piles of leaves waiting for the leaf machines to come by with their noisy vacuums and clean away the remains of autumn.  Our eyes saw Christmas wreaths on doors and windows,  fanciful balls hanging from bare branches on outdoor trees and tiny candlestick lights shining in windows.


By afternoon, gales of hardy wind escorted in rain and chilly temperatures. 

let's talk Shakespeare

And Shakespeare? He, indeed, is not to be classed, and timed, and treated as one amongst others,—he, who might well be the daily bread of th...