Though so tired that the day felt like a (bad) dream, I managed to not only get home, but get home fast and even run up the stairs of the Prospect Hill monument last night.
Brought in the mail, watered the tomatoes, clicked the radio on. What a nice surprise to find Jessye Norman singing the Four Last Songs as royal blue gradually replaced the band of tomato red to the west:
Im Abendrot (Eichendorff)
Through trouble and joy we have
walked hand in hand;
we can rest from our wanderings
now, above the peaceful country-side.
The valleys fall away around us,
the sky is already darkening,
Only a pair of larks still rise
dreamily into the scented air.
Come here, and let them fly
For soon it will be time to sleep
and we must not lose our way
in this solitude.
O broad, contented peace!
So deep in the sunset glow,
How exhausted we are with our
can this then be death?
Raphaella had left another bowl of soup for me in the back hallway, so that was dinner. Since last night was a break from Herodotus, I picked up my Larousse Gastronomique and read about the cuisine of ancient Greece and Rome.
I was too tired (and a bit demoralized) to tick another project off the knitting to do list. More than anything else, I want to make something nice for me, but there feels like too many other things to complete first.
Opted instead to read a couple essays from Second Person Rural. Mr. Perrin's writing soothes me; I like to imagine him across from me at the kitchen recounting these little stories of country life. This time around, "quaint" covered bridges were my lullabye. After the second or third time of finding myself using the book as a pillow, I forced myself up to turn off the light.
The sleep was so deep that I didn't remember any dreams or wake up until the alarm went off this morning (a rarity).