Fall and the Moon of Radical Change
Friday gratefuls: 13 degrees. Snow spitting. More precipitation on its way. Yes. Yes. Yes. THC. Happy Camper. Jennie’s Dead. Keyboards. Scrivener. Electric Blanket. Wildfires. Restoring the natural order. Joe’s 39th birthday. Less than two weeks before we awaken from our long national nightmare. Have I mentioned that you need to vote?
The World Is Too Much With Us. William Wordsworth, 1802
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn,
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.
And so it came to pass that on a mountain top in faraway Colorado these words came true. Though the creed, really non-existent, is anything but outworn. It is now. Chic. With it. Woke.
Short post today. Tried to go to Bailey for the monthly THC. Temperature and dewpoint hovering together, 15 degrees, dewpoint 11. Result? A scrim of ice on the roads. Had a brief, exciting excursion into the opposite lane going down Shadow Mountain Drive. Not worth it. Even for a Minnesota trained driver. Back home and getting ready to write on Jennie’s Dead.