Song of A Second April By Edna St. Vincent Millay
April this year, not otherwise
Than April of a year ago,
Is full of whispers, full of sighs,
Of dazzling mud and dingy snow;
Hepaticas that pleased you so
Are here again, and butterflies.
There rings a hammering all day,
And shingles lie about the doors;
In orchards near and far away
The grey wood-pecker taps and bores;
The men are merry at their chores,
And children earnest at their play.
The larger streams run still and deep,
Noisy and swift the small brooks run
Among the mullein stalks the sheep
Go up the hillside in the sun,
Pensively, -- only you are gone,
You that alone I cared to keep.
April is such a hopeful month. We do have a chance for showers today. It does feel rather spring like this morning. But tomorrow's forecast is a high of 80 degrees with the danger of severe storms. It makes one wonder what this summer will be like.
In the meantime, those undulating clouds have me captivated. And poetry, as always, soothes my worries.
Wow! Twelve books read in March. That's the most in one month for quite awhile. But when I find a new author I really like, I tend to devour all her/his books that I can. Jeffrey Archer books are hard to put down.
Hidden In Plain Sight, Turn A Blind Eye and Over My Dead Body completed the William Warwick series by Jeffrey Archer that I began at the end of February.
The Sins Of The Father, Best Kept Secret, and Be Careful What You Wish For are the first three books in The Clifton Chronicles Series by Jeffrey Archer. I thought his Warwick series was good but these are really good! It is interesting that one of the main characters in this series is the author of the Warwick novels. Adds an interesting twist and storyline to this series.
I really enjoyed both of Richardson's books and learning something new about the Depression era. In addition to the packhorse project, the Frontier Nursing Service which was founded by Mary Breckinridge in 1925, was also featured. Reading about the nurses who took medicines and care into the isolated areas sparked a memory for me.
When I worked in Des Moines in the 1970's, I met a young woman who had been a traveling nurse in Kentucky. I can't remember where/how I knew her nor her name, but I can still picture her. It may have been when I worked at Home Federal S&L or maybe at a women's retreat I attended, but I recall being so surprised that there were still visiting nurses going into the mountains of Kentucky at that time and that some homes were still without electricity and piped water. I assumed 'everyone' had entered the 20th Century.
Someone Else's Shoes by Jojo Moyes is a story about two very different women who accidently get one another's gym bags and end up with very different shoes. Moyes always tells excellent stories about everyday lives. This one, about women from opposite ends of the social strata becoming friends, was a very satisfying read.
Two more of Jeffrey Archer's Clifton Chronicles, Mightier Than The Sword and Cometh The Hour, completed my reading for the month of March. I only have one more in this series to read and I am really going to hate seeing it end. But I do see that he has two more William Warwick novels - one scheduled for this coming October and one for October 2024.
In the interim, I'm once again going to be hunting for new authors to read.
But I always thought it would be lovely to be there when all the cherry blossoms were at their peak. I had seen many pictures like the one above where the Jefferson Memorial was featured in the background with the trees in the foreground. The closest I ever came was in late April, 1975. The blossoms were spent but petals still littered the walkway. I stood on what has always seemed to me the west side, but is acutally more southeasterly, and gazed at what I think is the most beautiful of the presidents' memorials. I was in awe that I was acutally there and had the place almost entirely to myself. The last time I stood there and looked across the Tidal Basin was in the fall of 2008; no cherry blossoms, but it was still awesome.
Mary Oliver has been my favorite female poet since I discovered her poems. I thought I had most of her poems in my blogs, but I don't find that I have used this one before. So in recognition of International Poetry Day, here is Loneliness.
I too have known loneliness.
I too have known what it is to feel
misunderstood,
rejected, and suddenly
not at all beautiful.
Oh, mother earth,
your comfort is great, your arms never withhold.
It has saved my life to know this.
Your rivers flowing, your roses opening in the morning.
Oh, motions of tenderness!
And another poem by a newly discovered poet, Roque Dalton:
We don't have to have an International Day in order to appreciate poetry. As Dalton said:"Poetry, like bread, is for everyone"! 💖
Main Street Corning has been sharing old photos of buildings in the town's business district on their Facebook page. These often elicit some of my memories associated with the structures.
Mom always held Betty's and my hands when we were in town. I imagine I was around the age of five on the particular Saturday we were going down the stairs in Biggar's. I was puckering and blowing, blowing, blowing. We were close to the landing when all of a sudden I whistled! Oh, the joy! I could finally whistle! It was a red-letter day for sure - and one I've never forgotten and still associate with that store on the corner of Seventh and Davis, even if it is no longer Biggar's - and hasn't been for a very long time.
*Though 'Whistle While You Work', "Just whistle while you work, - when hearts are high, the time will fly, so whistle while you work" had been around since the 1937 Disney movie, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, 'The Happy Whistler' written and performed by Don Robertson, reached the #6 slot on the U.S. pop chart in 1956. I could never achieve that level of whistling ability but I loved the tune and its snappy finger popping.
When I think of Dorothy Parker I think of her as an acerbic wit - a member of the Algonquin Round Table. But she was also a poet. Her poems are ones I have discovered late in my poetry loving life.
