one last gorgeous summer morning?
September 15, 2011
8.40 am on September 15 2011. Point the lens at the sun and discover a composition with a slippery silvery feel.
Maybe learn how to hold the camera straight next time! Turn a few degrees to the south and all looks normal again . .
. . . but what are my eyes really seeing?
They say there’s a high windless world and strange,
Out of the wash of days and temporal tide,
Where Faith and Good, Wisdom and Truth abide,
`Aeterna corpora’, subject to no change.
There the sure suns of these pale shadows move;
There stand the immortal ensigns of our war;
Our melting flesh fixed Beauty there, a star,
And perishing hearts, imperishable Love. . . .
Dear, we know only that we sigh, kiss, smile;
Each kiss lasts but the kissing; and grief goes over;
Love has no habitation but the heart.
Poor straws! on the dark flood we catch awhile,
Cling, and are borne into the night apart.
The laugh dies with the lips, `Love’ with the lover. Rupert Brooke Mutability