It has been a long dreary winter, but my wife, Susan and I had our second AZ jabs today, for which we are very grateful. We are looking forward to meeting up with friends very soon. Here is a lighthearted poem which takes the opportunity to steal a Russian proverb I like for the penultimate line.
The view from my window, a ragged field of six acres, is no more connected to my life than Iceland or Patagonia. It was brown through January, radical green in March, and at Easter primroses broke cover beneath the hedges. I won't assimilate any of it. It's incidental to my appetites: 'To live a life is not to cross a field', to live a life is music, laughter, friends.