Shiloh: A Requiem
By Herman Melville
Skimming lightly, wheeling still,
The swallows fly low
Over the field in clouded days,
The forest-field of Shiloh--
Over the field where April rain
Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain
through the pause of night
That followed the Sunday fight
Around the church of Shiloh--
The church so lone, the log-built one,
That echoed to many a parting groan
And natural prayer
Of dying foemen mingled there--
Foemen at morn, but friends at eve--
Fame or country least their care:
(What like a bullet can undeceive!)
But now they lie low,
While over them the swallows skim,
And all is hushed at Shiloh.
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Spent a nice day visiting with
Then I came home and got my kids, which led to the usual hilarity one has with kids. My younger son was cleaning his room and discovered for the first time, though they have been there forever, the collection of stuffed Opuses (Opi?) from Bloom County on his very top shelf. These belonged to me and
Meme, gacked from
Light coming over the canal, so bright that not even my wonderful camera's automatic settings could cope.
The canal was so clear and shallow that the light penetrated to the bottom, allowing a rare glimpse of the rocks down there.
The geese were out enjoying the afternoon sun; around here they don't migrate, since food is reasonably plentiful even in the winter.
Though a champion kayaker drowned less than a month ago when his kayak overturned, and there were helicopters out looking for his body while we were at the falls, others could not resist the gorgeous weather.
Some of the invaders from the river washed ashore during a past flood; none of these are indigenous, they were dumped into the river by ships and are choking off the native fauna.
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