incandescens | well, that's something

Cameron not going to sell off woodlands after all, one hopes - hoo bloody ray. About time. (Sorry. To those who are not English, our prime minister and his government were trying to sell off large amounts of our woodlands. This has now been abandoned. Good. Now as long as they don't try to sneak it in through the back door somewhere . . .)

Ahem. Other than that, nice quiet day. Trying a new thing with some patchwork, and hope to have some photos to show for it tomorrow -- when, that is, I've finished unpicking and resewing a few seams because I put the fabric on the wrong way up. Oops.

Have managed to write a whole two paragraphs of the next chapter of the Library story. Feeling unduly proud of myself.

---

London

I wandered through each chartered street,
Near where the chartered Thames does flow,
A mark in every face I meet,
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every man,
In every infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forged manacles I hear:

How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every blackening church appals,
And the hapless soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down palace-walls.

But most, through midnight streets I hear
How the youthful harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the marriage-hearse.

-- William Blake