It has been a hell of a week and I have been eerily reminded how history repeats itself. Yet, knowing how history happens does not make the here and now less stressful. Yet this morning gentle rains filled my senses with a sense of calm and then I found Sara Teasdale’s poem. Her words filled me with a sense of calm – someday all of what is happening right now will just be history and “no one will care at last when it is done.” May these words give you peace as you welcome the weekend, and may you spend more time listening to the robins “whistling whims” than worrying about the latest news. Have a wonderful weekend and I will see you back here next week.
There Will Come Soft Rains
Sara Teasdale, 1884-1933
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night, And wild plum trees in tremulous white,
Robins will wear their feathery fire Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn, Would scarcely know that we were gone.