weekending and a sunday poem

This weekend has been a gray preview of an even grayer fall and winter.  It poured yesterday morning, and after lunch (and chores) I sat in a gray living room to listen to an audiobook and sew.  I sat and sat, stitching on this lovely piece, hoping to finish it before bedtime.  I'd been working on it for far too long.  The littles ran up and down the stairs, with their imagined games.  They colored and built Legos.  The boys had an imaginary battle, and little M colored and drew more.  I wondered if I maybe should have taken them somewhere (Where? It was very wet outdoors, and indoors, well...).  Even a late afternoon walk with Father G didn't shake the feeling that I'd been in a trance all day.

This morning, the light just eked out of the dawn, and the sky lowered as gray as yesterday, without the rain.  I'd opted not to attend Liturgy yesterday morning because the children struggle with two-days-in-a-row liturgy.  We'd go today!  Then, last evening, a parishioner added several people to an already full list of attendees for today's service.  So, home we stayed, since there wasn't any room for us (according to the Covid regulations).  We watched Liturgy live on the computer, memories of last spring's isolation contributing to my feeling of sleepwalking.  Our male cricket, Tiny-Chirpy, sang throughout the service.  Let everything that breathes praise the LORD.  His little tune only heightened that half-waking sensation.   

In other news, I did finish that cross-stitch project!  I framed it today and put it in Little M's bedroom.  She's been waiting so patiently.  I'd originally bought this one for her room, intending the one I just finished for above our mantel, but she insisted she wanted a girl on hers.  I aim to please.  The forget-me-nots may just be my favorite part.  Z asked for Things of Summer for her birthday, and she'll put it up in her room once she's finished, too.  I just started another one for winter, and hope it's ready to deck our mantel for advent.

And now for a poem :)

Sonnet 73

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day

As after sunset fadeth in the west,

Which by and by black night doth take away,

Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the death-bed whereon it must expire,

Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

                        -- William Shakespeare