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.

Monday, 10 May 2010

Day 6: Going Upstairs (rain), 6 May 2010

Soft, persistant rain all day so I climbed the stairs to think about 'a mere projection of the glow within' (MSE, 1969) and found a miniature barometer on the wall.
Rain From The West
The rain that bows the flowering grasses,
Leaving a crystal on each bending blade,
Has stroked for milesthe sea's grey ridges
And dints the shore-pools with its speckled shade.
Who knows what flowers and seeds of summer
May rise from this far-carried alien rain -
Which drops may nourish them and which, drawn skyward,
Will, wind-impelled, drive on to fall again.
Out of the west it comes, but to me...
It seems a local rain, meant for these grasses -
For me, whose sun its cloud can never spoil.
Mary Stella Edwards (1963)