incandescens | a start made

Made definite strides in the Christmas shopping stakes today; bought collected Fu Manchu editions for my mother, and sports socks for my grandfather. (No, seriously. He's been advised to start wearing trainers, as they'll be easier on his feet than the classic shoes which a proper man of his generation would have worn. IE, stiff leather. So I've been buying Calvin Klein sports socks with cushioned soles.)

Mm. I should have listened to that part of my memory which said that while June Tabor was pleasant enough, she wasn't anything special, rather than buying a collected CD of her songs. Well, pleasant enough, but -- nothing particularly special. I still think her perky, cheerful, bright, lively music is much better than her slow mournful stuff. (Which is unusual, because normally I prefer minors.)

(No, not that way. Wash your mind out with soap and water.)

---

There Will Come Soft Rains

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

-- Sara Teasdale