By Jan Struther
By the red furnace stands
Apollo mute,
Holding in upraised hands
His iron flute.
Slowly from back and brow
The bright sweat drips;
He sets the clarion now
Light to his lips,
And ever, as he blows,
Without a sound
His molten music flows,
Golden and round.
Never from herald's breath
In brazen horn,
Telling of strife and death
Or of peace new-born;
From silver clarinet
By fingers small
To lips of ruby set
In raftered hall;
From jilted shepherd's reed
Plaintively proving
How he in very deed
Must die of loving–
Never from all these came
A music sweeter
Than this bright sphere of flame
With neither sound nor name,
Cadence nor metre,
That steadily, as he blows
On his iron flute,
Trembles and swells and glows,
Gold-amber, amber-rose,
In melody mute.
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Thursday was nice and cool, overcast without rain, lots of fluff from the cottonwood trees blowing everywhere. I had a bunch of stuff to get done in the morning, which I did while watching the Yankees beat the Twins, then after lunch we drove to Issaquah to pick up the glass pumpkins we made last week at Art By Fire. The traffic was terrible (construction on Lake Sammamish Boulevard) but we managed to stop in REI to pick up a Northwest Forest Pass and in Fortunato Chocolate for awesome vegan mallomars and chocolate dipped macaroons!
I talked to my usual Thursday night chat group about various new entertainment and political developments, then we watched two seasons (possibly series) finales: Franklin, which was finally decent to Adams and gave us the Founding Fathers we deserve, and Sugar, which had a twist I really disliked (not The Big Twist, which was interesting; this was a cliched genre thing that made me roll my eyes). Now we're watching Hacks, which has been just so satisfying this season; Deborah and Ava as allies is such a joy and I want more!
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