A Summer Night

These last few months have truly been the most insanely busiest days for a very long time, but perhaps also some of the most interesting in quite a while. Part from my brother getting married, and I being his best man and toastmaster, he and my new sister-in-law came and visited me during Easter, I have travelled to my friends on the West-coast, attended a PhD-course in London and met many new friends, my second conference, have co-founded a research network, an online academic journal, and written the first 100 pages of my dissertation. Yesterday I ended a week of fun, work and an absolutely joyful time with visiting friends. I have also been witness to my first summer month here in the south, which I must admit has not been at all bad.

I now have some time to relax somewhat and devote my time to hopefully read books I have been longing for. I have brought my book with the Auden poems and found one which describes my present summer in this sunny and surprisingly quiet neighbourhood. Over my speakers Julie London's beautiful voice fills the room, and the summer night sky is clear with stars is my view.

Out on the lawn I lie in bed,
Vega conspicuous overhead
In the windless night of June,
As congregated leaves complete
Their day's activity; me feet
Point to the rising moon.

Lucky, this point in time and space
Is chosen as my working-place,
Where the sexy airs of summer,
The bathing hours and the bare arms,
The leisured drives through a land of farms
Are good to a newcomer.
W.H. Auden

Spring and Easter

Almost all the snow has gone, but there is still some chill in the early morning breeze. There are still some small patches of snow along the road, but spring is rappidly moving, and Easter has already arrived. Some say that this week should be a time of solemn reflextion, quiet reading of books and chocolate, to some degree I agree.

’TIS spring; come out to ramble
The hilly brakes around,
For under thorn and bramble
About the hollow ground
The primroses are found.

And there’s the windflower chilly
With all the winds at play,
And there’s the Lenten lily
That has not long to stay
And dies on Easter day.

And since till girls go maying
You find the primrose still,
And find the windflower playing
With every wind at will,
But not the daffodil,

Bring baskets now, and sally
Upon the spring’s array,
And bear from hill and valley
The daffodil away
That dies on Easter day.

A.E. Housman