"By the rushy-fringed bank, where grows the willow and the osier dank My sliding chariot stays.
Thickset with agat, and the Azurn sheen of Turkish blue and Em'rald green, That in the channel strays.
Whilst from off the Waters fleet Thus i set my printless feet. O'er the Cowslips velvet Head, That bends not, bends not, as i tread." ("Comus" Dalton, efter Milton.)
Even though i love all seasons and months of the year, i am now longing a bit for June, i know June will return, -if the whole atmosphere doesn't melt down before then of course. We can only hope it doesn't. The rhubarbs! -oh, how i love rhubarb! But i've heard that if you eat it too often it can damage your kidneys, it's fortunate that one doesn't.
-My beloved, departed mother, i remember, told me of an early morning...probably in June, when she was young, knackered after a night at the Operabaren fetched some rhubarb-stems in the garden and chopped them to bits to make a crumble or perhaps, a lovely rhubarb-soup. -suddenly she jumped and discovered that she very nearly had severed her own finger! The blade of the knife had gone well into the bone! End of that dazzling story. Oh, how i miss her! I can still remember her lifeless hand in mine, in that dreary hospital room. I don't think i have gotten over her dying, or even dealt with it. It just can't be this easy to go on without such a person...it's probably coming to me any day now...or in forty years, a life long loss. Here she is, just a fiew months before she died, when i couldn't even imagine the succession of ruthless horrors that would soon accost us.