A digital watercolour of the lovely ladies I spend some time with each morning in Essex, and they always seem prepared to converse and mend the world with me. This piece of Eliot’s poem East Coker goes some way to prepare me for another week. Strange how I revisit his poem on a regular basis. I shall have to share it with these belles.
For most of us, there is only the unattended
Moment, the moment in and out of time,
The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,
The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning
Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts.