Soaring spirits

A long day. I popped out for ten minutes after management supervision for some air and to remind myself what it was like to be alive and to see the things of the day, the brilliant red of the hawthorn berries against the briefly bright blue sky, sandwiched between the hefty rain showers that top and tailed the day and the lane snaking off towards Acorn Bank, as it always has done for hundreds of years with all the lives that have walked it.

I’ve just been reading about the sad death of Wilko Johnson on Veronica’s blip. My first awareness of him was a poster of his important fundraising event at the Roundhouse which helped raise funds and the profile for the restoration of Wordsworth’s cottage, acquire manuscripts and build the museum in the 1970’s … https://www.theguardian.com/theguardian/2013/feb/20/wilko-johnson-review-roundhouse-1978

Surprised by Joy - William Wordsworth 

Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind 
I turned to share the transport—Oh! with whom 
But Thee, long buried in the silent Tomb, 
That spot which no vicissitude can find? 
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind— 
But how could I forget thee?—Through what power, 
Even for the least division of an hour, 
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind 
To my most grievous loss!—That thought’s return 
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, 
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, 
Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more; 
That neither present time, nor years unborn 
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.