Downstairs Window

Downstairs Window


Some doors open on a thickly-peopled air
Of moving shadows, those whose lives, long gone,
Were spent there....
Some on a waiting silence - of expectancy
For those to come; some to the musty smell
Of mere desuetude; and some in constancy
To the long loving years of sweet content
In which the light of sun and moon have blent
In lasting light that bids all dark farewell -
Of such will this room tell.

Mary Stella Edwards, 1962.

Wednesday, 5 May 2010

Day 11: The Baskets Under the Bed (Monday 11 May 2010)

I reached under the bed to move the smaller basket and felt its heaviness.
Inside I found the lovingly stored equipment of two watercolour painters.
All in mid-use.

The Words of Others
'The North Star', the half-heard radio said,
No matter in what connection; and the tears sprang
Sliding across my eyes - so that I heard no more -
Hiding this paper, but not that constellation
That shines in my brain and ever at that door
Where we stood always when stars were bright at bedtime,
Stood in the dark night air, joined in love and gazing.
And in a book I read - a few words only -
'The rowan alerady bright with berries';
And at once we stand together in that enchantment and place
First found that day, and I picked the oak-leaf spray
To hold it always - but now only with tears.
I have it still, shrivelled and dry, among my treasures.
Mary Stella Edwards, January - February 1973.