The night is fled/and we are wed
And ever more are merry

I think I'll order tonight's observations a la the Vertumnal:

Root and Branch: Life is so good. God is so good. Look how he uses school to force me out of myself. Tonight I learned that I have not changed all that much - inside - from who I was in Kindergarten. I've grown bolder in some respects, less fearful (or at least ACTING less fearful) in others, I've certainly grown physically and mentally...but emotionally? I've always been terrified of the romance of meeting other people. I've become better, but that final intimacy - even *seriously* (not cherubicly) considering it - still terrifies me. Perhaps this is not absolutely uncommon. But it does rather put me in the position of Brunhilda among the flames. Indeed, I am she. Although I'll forgo a Seigfried exclaiming, "Das ist kein Mann!" and the subsequent immolation! But, no - "Das ist kein Mann!" is a perfectly right response. For first should come friendship and then the realization that there is an otherness of the sexes that allows for eros.

Budding Bough: Ah, but thou winged god! Thou art indeed a very beast.
Thou whisperest in mine ear, invisible, to all unseen, yet felt in the darkling hour.
What then?
Have I courage to lift the veil, to raise the lamp and see?
Have I the courage - nay, more, have I such folly?
Abandon that false wisdom that beckons one
to sleep beside the unseen god, secure in his arms yet ignorant.
Raise the lamp! Lift the veil!
See for one reckless moment, in all thine ordered life, the wild beauty of thy god!
What matter if thou banished art?
What matter if to the darkest hell thou art sent
before thou mayest return, a bride in truth?
What dost thou fear but love himself?
Why dost thou linger, pale shadow thrown against the curtain
from the lamp half-lofted by the indecisive hand.
And yet linger, Psyche doth -
linger, ponder, until she aging grows -
a wrinkled bride for eternal youth.
Let not time sag thy bones until to see beyond the damned veil
is nothing but a dream of youth, a memory of eyes that once could see.
Linger not, ponder not, lest thou never know thy groom.
What thou he be a terror - for he a god and thou afraid?
The terror is thine, yet not of thine own fabric - cast it off with the cursed veil.
Seeping light, tentative, upon the swirled and dimpled sheet
that covers he she knows well and yet knows not at all
falls gently upon his face.
What wonder then he opes his eyes and smiles?

Burning Leaves: Less poetic now: reread Music for Medina. It would be more comfortable as a novel but it does well on its own. A goodly world. I think I'll reread Poityr next. Wow, I love the world of Arianja. And yet, it is too large for my poor head just yet! How curious, I want to see that world so much - not live there, but walk about it, touch the statues, observe the Pleubeq, the hexagonal tenements. I want to live in No. 12 Collegium Square, I want to see the multiple pictures of Yvonne on the crumbling Medini walls, I want to walk the fifty steps of jade to the palace of the Djo, I want to walk among her water paths, I want to see the spires of Haraggini. But you know, I *can* see these things. I just need to travel in this world more. Aie! I want to go out to another country right now. I want to go to India, to see the Taj Mahal. I want to visit Florence again, and meander about the side-streets, and find that perfect corner of Renquois transported to where we drank that silly bottle of impossible-to-open wine. I want to see the Alps again. This world is so full of natural beauty and the glories of man's better augmentations! Why can I not see it all? *sigh* I must travel again. I wonder if I can swing anything for this summer or next. "I want to see mountains Gandalf!" It's true - I'm sick of living in the city. Not that I don't like where I live, I just want to take a week and sit on the rocky DESERTED beach of New Hampshire, I want to go to North Dakota and see the sky and the stars again, I want to find a moor and walk among the tall grass. Ah! I'm in the mood I was in when Kristen and I wrote More. Yes, Lord, MORE!

Snow Silk Gloves: Despite today being difficult, despite DVD's not being made in the night, and a bed too late sought, and various other every-day-isms, I am loverly content. Mainly due to conversation in between and after open house. Few and far between are the contented times. Could I catch it in a handkerchief, hold the smell of simple peace within its cotton folds, and bear it with me wherever I go to bury my face within it when the world becomes too much.... And alas, beginning tomorrow night, the world is going to become too much and Miss Snyder's going to be stretched very very thin. Lord, I'm going to need a lot of strength to get through the tasks you've given me this year - not impossible tasks, not disagreeable, but plenty. I suppose I asked for more, eh? I suppose this is the more. My cup overflows! Oh Lord, be there to catch me!

Mood: Well, well, well
Music: "Non nobis domine" from Henry V - good CD! Been a while since I pulled this one out. I was looking for Man of LaMancha but couldn't find it so thought I'd stick this one in. *sigh* God, you are so good! Indeed, not to myself but to You be the glory!
Thought: How enclosed have I become
Pensee deuxieme: [Edited to add] - I just read the first bit of Poityr and I'm very much afraid that I still haven't found the beginning. As I feared, I think I must write about their time in Senel as its own novel. This is going to be a very long novel, in fact, a trilogy. Oy! It's OK, Em, don't hyperventilate - you've got to write Aiden first. And that's more or less a stand alone! Yippee!