a day in the life

Last week I decided to capture the mundane and banal from a typical work day.

I have never developed a strong liking for coffee, but, ahh! a nice cup of tea, is how I start my day ...

... I have been getting up early and writing for one hour before beginning my 40 minute commute ...

... first the bus ...

... at this spot the c-train door will open and I will get on, mine are not the pink toenails ...

... here is PetroCanada Tower, Calgary's #1 terrorist target, I work on the 38th & 39th floors ...

... spot the ubiquitous Starbucks in the foyer, been a tea drinker I never stop there ...

... I just take the elevator and look at the TV to get 'in depth' 20 word headlines...

... stop! you cannot come in unless you say the magic word ...

... go and work hard young man ...

... I walk down the hall to my office ...

... I'm thankful that I have an office even if it is next door to the notorious B.I.G. who adorned my name plate with this cartoon ...

.. of course to IT, I am just a number 'jtb86118' not a name ...

... I try to keep my desk tidy but it gets messy with word docs, excel spreadsheets and visio charts, may be the cartoon is closer the mark than I would care to admit ...

... my phone is invariably flashing messages when I come in, such is life when you work with people around the planet ...

... but I usually take a moment to enjoy the view, the buildings are not pleasant but in the distance I can usually see the snow capped Rockies ...

... why not cut out the 'middle man' and dump the paper straight in the recycling bin ...

... my office is on the 39th floor but I am typically up and down to the 38th floor 5-10 times a day ...

... looking down 39 floors can make me feel dizzy ...

... as can these diagrams, spot the Greek reference? ....

... so now it's time for lunch, today, sushi, tuna, salmon, prawn and California outside roll, all for $6! (4Euros, UKP3, $AUS7) ...

... if I'm stressed I will go and walk a labyrinth in a nearby church, this is a great way to relax, I try to do it slowly, typically it takes me 30 minutes to get to the inside ...


... at then home at the end of the day.


For more information ...
labyrinth

listening

A wise old owl sat in an oak,
The more he heard the less he spoke;
The less he spoke the more he heard.
Why aren't we all like that wise old bird?

- Edward Hersey Richards


Nature gave us one tongue and two ears so we could hear twice as much as we speak.

- Epictetus


Good listening involves being in the moment and tuning into someone else. I think too much about the future and too much about myself therefore I struggle with listening.

Although flawed, I am reasonably self-aware and have worked at listening. At work during meetings, I play this game where I try to be the last person to speak. In this way I can sit silently and listen. It kills me and yet shows me the idleness of chatter! I also ask myself if what I am about to say will make a difference, most times it will not, so I don't bother saying anything. More and more, I find this to be true.


I would not want to leave you with the impression that I am quiet. I am not and would say I am one of the more vocal in most work groups. I am working at listening and choosing a few key words that express something of import. I find my writing style is far more minimal than my verbal style and conveys better what I mean.

Do you hear me?

half way

So how long will I live? The following is certainly not scientific but it is amusing.

The life expectancy in Ireland is 77.73 years and I lived there for my first 21 years. In the UK it is 78.54 and I spent 8 years in that country. I am glad I spent 7 years in Canada as the life expectancy there is 80.22 years. Finally the life expectancy in the US is 77.85 and I spent 2 years stateside.

Calculating my life expectancy from the average life expectancy for each country and weighting it by the time spent in each country, I come up with the following.

((77.73*21)+(78.54*8)+(80.22*7)+(77.85*2))/38 = 78.36 years

So I will live to 78, which means that I will meet the grim reaper sometime in 2046. If I go all 'Cardinal Ussher' and calculate exactly how many days .36 of 78.36 translates to, the grim reaper will sharpen his scythe on Friday May 11th at 9.36 in the morning, just after my final breakfast.

(source: www.firstworldwar.com)

By then my son will be 42 and if he had a child at the same age I did, that child would be 6. So I will see my son mature to the age of 42 and my grandson to the age of 6, if I and they are lucky. This is certainly not scientific and it is quickly losing its humor. When put like this, 78 does not seem long enough.

Today I am 38, almost halfway there.

For more information ...
life expectancy
rank order life expectancy
first world war sketches
cardinal ussher

this week I am drinking

Recently I have been on two wine quests. First, to find a nice dry riesling as distinct from sweet rieslings. Secondly, to find an Australian wine that would make my summer picks.


I was pleasantly suprised to satisfy both quests when I came across Mount Langi Ghiran 2004 riesling ($Can19, 13Euros, $AUS22, 9UKP). This wine from the Grampians in Victoria, Australia perhaps lacks some of the layered complexity of the Alsace or Mosel-Saar-Ruwer rieslings but it is very drinkable and it is dry. The unusual name is aboriginal for 'home of the yellow-tailed black cockatoo'.

The label describes strong lemon and lime flavours and although I usually suspect the marketing spin on labels this one has got it right. This citrus quality lends it the dry acidic character I was looking for but there is also a hint of sweetness, perhaps peach. Additionally it has a mineral quality, a slight stony flavour but certainly not the flinty character of chablis.

This is so nice I bought a second bottle which I will polish off tonight! It should be available in Australia so I would be interested to hear what the antipodeans have to say about it. Enjoy!

For more information ...
mount langi ghiran (a good wine, a poor site)
yellow tailed black cockatoo

no one shouted stop

We were hungry and happy in the fields
But fled for factories where we were fed and frustrated
And no one shouted stop.

Our children played by the river
But we put them into schools to be bullied
And no one shouted stop.

We had large families that had little
But then had little families who had everything
And no one shouted stop.

We were lazy and idle and had time for our kids
But became busy and scheduled and made no time for our kids
And no one shouted stop.

We had nothing but lovingly gave our kids what we had,
We got everything, gave it all to our kids except love
And no one shouted stop.

We worked long and hard and still made time
We worked long and hard and had no time
And no one shouted stop.

Our houses were small but felt like home
Our houses were large and felt like hotels
And no one shouted stop.

We hit our children but did not hate them
We do not hit them but act like we hate them
And no one shouted stop.

We had shorter lives fully lived
but now have longer lives largely unlived
And no one shouted stop.


This is quite rantish and has not been subject to my normal intense editing. It doesn't quite reflect what I believe, I am not so nostalgic or pessimistic. In spite of this I decided to 'put it out there' just to see what people think. Apologies to John Healy but I am sure he would appreciate the fighting tone of the piece.

For more information ...
john healy
preshaa

2006 spring picks

Anyone fancy some wine in a can?



Spring has been good for trying antipodean wines and I am glad to see some Kiwi wines make it to my list of recommendations. Our Australian friends are, once again, noticeable by their absence. During the summer months I will endeavour to search out some good Aussie wines which must exist. In Spring we drank mostly French followed closely by Australian then New Zealand and Canadian with a few Spanish and Chilean rounding out our sampling


1. Meursault, Paul Garaudet, Vieille Vigne 2002 - Burgundy, France (17/20)
"expensive but beautiful, delicate, citrus, oaky, soft"

2. Rubens, Tempranillo, 2004 - Villamanrique, Ciudad Real, Spain (16/20)
"fruity, earthy, nice, a little tannic"

3. Oyster Bay, Sauvignon Blanc, 2005 - New Zealand (16/20)
"pungent, strong citrus and melon notes"

4. Kim Crawford, Sauvignon Blanc, 2005 - New Zealand (16/20)
"a more subtle Kiwi, citrus, melon, tangerine, very nice, worth $CAN25 (Euro17.62, UKP12.03, AUS30.20)"


This season I have also tried to find the best of the cheapest wines available here in western Canada. Below is my choice, not the greatest of wines but very drinkable and look at the price!

Cuvee Saint Pierre, Blanc de Blancs, Chardonnay - France
"nice drinkable not complex, wet!" $CAN8.90 (Euro6.27, UKP4.28, AUS10.75)


For more information ...
No website for Paul Garaudet, another example of how poorly French wines are marketed.
reubens
oyster bay
kim crawford
iron wine

the wisdom of zorba

Zorba the Greek by Nikos Kazantzakis explores the tension between a life of action and a life of thought. Whilst the books narrator might suggest that the unexamined life is not worth living, Zorba would counter that the unlived life is not worth examining.


Here is some wisdom of Zorba.

"I tell you, boss, everything that happens in this world is unjust, unjust, unjust. I won't be party to it! I, Zorba, the worm, the slug! Why must the young die and the old wrecks go on living? Why do little children die? I had a boy once - Dimitri he was called - and I lost him when he was three years old. Well ... I shall never, never forgive God for that, do you hear? I tell you, the day I die, if He has the cheek to appear in front of me, and if He is really and truly a God, He'll be ashamed! Yes, yes, He'll be ashamed to show himself to Zorba, the slug!"

... and more ...

"The unfailing rhythms of the seasons, the ever-turning wheel of life, the four facets of the earth which are lit in turn by the sun, the passing of life - all of these filled me once more with a feeling of oppression. Once more there sounded within me, together with the cranes' cry, the terrible warning that there is only one life for all men, that there is no other and that all that can be enjoyed must be enjoyed here. In eternity no other chance will be given us.
A mind hearing this pitiless warning - a warning which, at the same time, is so compassionate - would decide to conquer it weakness and meanness, its laziness and vain hopes and cling with all its power to every second which flies away for ever."

It is not the easiest book to read and tends to meander in places but perhaps Kazantzakis was trying to echo the pace of Greek life. However, for those of you with reflective souls I would encourage you to read this classic.

For more information ...
Zorba - wikipedia
Zorba - the movie

mommy in pieces

(portrait of the artist's mother - juan gris, 1912)

One day whilst playing with my wife and child we began to pretend our belly buttons were lost. Into my mind jumped the first line below and I was prompted to write a melodic, unconventional and image forming poem. I imagine this in a book of absurd rhymes for children.


1 My mommy lost her belly button boating in Bruges one year,
2 The Belgians found it for her in the old cathedral there.
3 After that in Amsterdam she misplaced her elbow,
4 A Dutch milkmaid discovered it, down where tulips grow.
5 Pushing onto Paris she couldn't find her chin
6 But under the Eiffel Tower she found it there again.
7 Meandering in Munich her hips they went astray,
8 A polite German policeman retrieved them the next day.

9 She wandered all through Europe for that summer long,
10 Losing bodyparts and wondering what was wrong.
11 Then one night in London town she met a fellow traveller,
12 He had lost most of himself and yet was filled with laughter.
13 She asked why do you laugh so much when most of you is gone?
14 He said, with each lost piece of me I find where I belong.
15 From that moment, mommy wandered with bright knowing eyes,
16 Losing little bits of her but growing young and wise.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to suggest improvements and point out what you think is wrong with the above 'work in progress'.

Help!


For more information ...
juan gris

endgame - samuel beckett

CLOV (fixed gaze, tonelessly):

Finished, it's finished, nearly finished, it must be nearly finished.
(Pause.)
Grain upon grain, one by one, and one day, suddenly, there's a heap, a little heap, the impossible heap.
(Pause.)
I can't be punished any more.
(Pause.)
I'll go now to my kitchen, ten feet by ten feet by ten feet, and wait for him to whistle me.
(Pause.)
Nice dimensions, nice proportions, I'll lean on the table, and look at the wall, and wait for him to whistle me.
(He remains a moment motionless, then goes out. He comes back immediately, goes to window right, takes up the ladder and carries it out. Pause. Hamm stirs. He yawns under the handkerchief. He removes the handkerchief from his face. Very red face. Glasses with black lenses.)

HAMM:

Me -
(he yawns)
- to play.
(He takes off his glasses, wipes his eyes, his face, the glasses, puts them on again, folds the handkerchief and puts it back neatly in the breast pocket of his dressing gown. He clears his throat, joins the tips of his fingers.)
Can there be misery -
(he yawns)
- loftier than mine? No doubt. Formerly. But now?
(Pause.)
My father?
(Pause.)
My mother?
(Pause.)
My... dog?
(Pause.)
Oh I am willing to believe they suffer as much as such creatures can suffer. But does that mean their sufferings equal mine? No doubt.
(Pause.)
No, all is a-
(he yawns)
-bsolute,
(proudly)
the bigger a man is the fuller he is.
(Pause. Gloomily.)
And the emptier.
(He sniffs.)
Clov!
(Pause.)
No, alone.
(Pause.)
What dreams! Those forests!
(Pause.)
Enough, it's time it ended, in the shelter, too.
(Pause.)
And yet I hesitate, I hesitate to... to end. Yes, there it is, it's time it ended and yet I hesitate to-—
(He yawns.)
-to end.
(Yawns.)
God, I'm tired, I'd be better off in bed.
(He whistles. Enter Clov immediately. He halts beside the chair.)
You pollute the air!
(Pause.)
Get me ready, I'm going to bed.

.....

I have always found Beckett humorous. The bleak and minimal nature of the work only serves to heighten the ludicrous nature of the linguistic see-sawing in which his characters engage. It is this verbal rumination that ultimately leads to an understanding of the ritualistic nature of our small talk.

I prefer Endgame over the more famous, Waiting for Godot, and find in it more meaning and humour. The opening exchange, above, between Clov and Hamm is a taste of what the full play contains and I encourage people to read/see Beckett's plays. He is accessible and universal, there are no obtruse literary allusions. All the reader/theatre goer needs to do is listen. Listen real carefully and then you will begin to hear the rhythms emerge.

Next year this play will be 50 years old and yet I know of no other play that is so thouroughly modern.

For more information ...
samuel beckett
endgame

varietal variety

Curious to understand how many varietals I sampled in the last year, I reviewed my wine diary and came up with the incomplete list below.

Certainly it reflects exploration beyond the grapes that typically make it into our glasses but vitis vinifera* holds more room for exploration as is evidenced by wikipedia's also incomplete but more exhaustive list.


white

ugni blanc
colombard
viognier
marsanne
parellada,
macabeo
xarel-lo
chardonnay
monastrell
prosecco
riesling
sauvignon blanc
semillion
grechetto
jaquerre
chenin blanc
gewurtztraminer/traminer
pinot gris
gros mansey?


red

carinena
garnacha/garnaga/grenache
trebbianno
tempranillo
shiraz/syrah
mouverde
cinsault
nebbiolo
pinot noir
pinot meunier
malbec
gamay
cabernet sauvignon
cabernet franc
merlot
aragones
casletao
triacadeira

For more information ...
*vitis vinifera - the main grape species used in wine making
grape varieties

first blirthday

I have been blogging for one year, here are some numbers.

82 posts

22 on thinking
18 on wine
11 on poems
8 on peek and boo
8 on nature
8 on words/literature
3 on domestic

4 unaccounted for

apple flower

white apple flower
blossoms during heatwave night
sign of summer soon

My quick attempt at a haiku inspired by our flowering crab apple tree.

For more information ...
haiku

fool

(credit: neat whiteface, glen "frosty" little by jim howle)

What is it about men that they only realize at the end of their life that it was all for naught and the 'smaller things' not the 'bigger things' were what life was really all about?

Whether it is Ivan Ilyich realizing in his final few moments that his whole life and its conventionality has 'been wrong'. Or Dorian Gray realizing that his vanity was not worth the price of his sins and then dying as a result of his final attempt at reform. Or Charles Foster Kane who in spite of his success and acquisitiveness dies without love and with only the word 'rosebud' on his lips, a final remembrance of his childhood.

Why do we realize what is important near the end? Why are we distracted? Do women suffer the same neglect of life itself?

Is it because man is still a conqueror who wants to go out into the world and leave his mark and does so at the expense of what is close to home? Is it because he needs to focus on been a provider and provides the wealth of the world but not time or the love? Or is it because he simply does not stop and think about what is important?

Why do we wait until the end, to begin? Why are we such fools?


For more information ...
the death of ivan ilyich
the picture of dorian gray
citizen kane

on our watch

(source: bbc news)

In the margin of a report on Rwanda, the US president scribbled, 'not on my watch'. An admirable sentiment but one that seems increasingly futile as the Darfur crisis spirals downward. We cannot be too harsh however on the inept president because the collective world has largely ignored Sudan. Indeed we tend to ignore the whole of the African continent.

Africa makes it onto our news and nature programs but there is a shocking lack of TV fiction about Africans. Through the news, we get the facts, through the nature programs we build pictures of the continent but we do not have a sense of Africans.

Good fiction connects us with people as people. The only TV show to address Africa and some of its concerns is ER and for that it is to be commended. It does not present a through analysis of the Darfur situation but it does show us African's as 'real people'.

Only when we connect with people from far off lands as 'real people' will we begin to work on making sure there are no additions to the genocide list that currently ends; Bosnia, Rwanda, Darfur.


For more information ...
darfur crisis
oxfam darfur press release

first flower

Yesterday evening I could see a bud straining to break forth and this morning there it was, more full than I would have anticipated. The first flower of the season, the first tulip of spring.

Perhaps it is timely that a tulip, the national flower of Iran, peacefully came forth just as tensions seem to be rising in that part of the world. Whatever happens regarding Iran and its nuclear aspirations at least I can depend on this tulip appearing regularly each year.

Oh! how the world is wasted on man.


For more information ...
go out and smell a flower

varietals - merlot

Think of merlot as cabernet sauvignon's younger brother. It shares some of the fruit characteristics and additionally has plummy and even chocolate notes but without the robustness of cabs. Unfortunately whilst cabernet may be the tough elder brother, merlot sometimes comes off as a weakling. This stereotype was regrettably reinforced by the movie 'sideways', I say regrettably because good merlot has a distinct character worth exploration.

As with cabernet sauvignon, Bordeaux is the classic region producing quality merlots but also look for good merlots from the US (both California and Washington State). Chile also has good merlots to offer although some tend to be mislabelled and in truth are carmenere (source: the wine bible). Australia too has some good merlot and often blend it with cabernet sauvignon, as do other regions.


I refreshed my memory of merlots by opening a bottle of 2003 Ravenswoods from Sonoma County, California. This 100% merlot is produced by Joel Peterson, a winemaker who prides himself on creating merlots with character. Although Ravenswood is owned by the mega-corp Constellation, don't let that put you off trying this wine.

Strong black fruit , I could not detect chocolate or mocha. Perhaps a little plum. Certainly it was quite robust , medium to full bodied. The tannins perhaps lend some character but their bitterness resulted in the loss of a soft, velvety quality I had been looking for. There was some spice, not quite pepper perhaps clove. I hesitate to criticize this wine, it has tried to be something more than a weak and meek merlot, but in the end I just did not enjoy it. It may be worth the $CAN20 (Euro14, $AUS24, UKP10) for some but I think I will not buy it again.

I feel like the mystery of a good merlot had not been revealed to me, so I expect to explore more soon. A Pomerol or that Bogle merlot that has been hanging around waiting for an occassion.

For more information ...
sideways
the wine bible
ravenswood merlot
constellation brands

the death of ivan ilyich

Illustration from The Divine Comedy by Gustave Dore

'What if my whole life has been wrong?'

It occurred to him that what had appeared perfectly impossible
before, namely that he had not spent his life as he should have
done, might after all be true. It occurred to him that his
scarcely perceptible attempts to struggle against what was
considered good by the most highly placed people, those scarcely
noticeable impulses which he had immediately suppressed, might have
been the real thing, and all the rest false. And his professional
duties and the whole arrangement of his life and of his family, and
all his social and official interests, might all have been false.
He tried to defend all those things to himself and suddenly felt
the weakness of what he was defending. There was nothing to
defend.

'But if that is so,' he said to himself, 'and I am leaving
this life with the consciousness that I have lost all that was
given me and it is impossible to rectify it -- what then?'

Extract from 'The death of Ivan Ilyich' by Leo Tolstoy, first published 1886.


I would encourage anyone to read this classic novella by Leo Tolstoy. It is both sobering and frightening in confronting the reader with the meaning of life, or lack thereof and yet at the end of its darkness is light.


For more information ...
tolstoy

cartaphilus

Medieval legend has it that as Jesus walked to Golgotha he was disrespected by a shoemaker amongst others. As a result of this disrespect, this man, (variously known as Cartaphilus, Malchus and Ahasverus) was cursed by Jesus to wander the earth forever.

The legend itself has many incarnations but seems to be European in origin. One of the incarnations relates that Cartaphilus wanders the earth until the age of 100 when he is miraculously changed back to a 30 year old and his wanderings begin again. Various 'sightings' have occurred throughout continental Europe, mostly in Austria, Germany and Switzerland.

The wandering Jew by Gustave Dore

The legend has obvious anti-Semitic overtones resulting from the crucifixion story and the prevailing attitudes towards Jews in medieval Europe. However, I feel there is something more to the legend. Perhaps it is the idea that contentment is unattainable for those who deny god and this discontent is demonstrated through meaningless meanderings. Again, parallels with the Jewish diaspora can be drawn but for me I see in this legend a more personal perspective. I don't believe in god so you can understand how I might be perturbed if contentment is out of my reach. I also have done my fair share of wandering and sometimes it does seem to be without meaning.

The Incredulity of Saint Thomas by Caravaggio

Am I Cartaphilus, reanimated for purposeless perennial perambulation? Perhaps? Or is this wandering how us unbelievers discover the world for ourselves rather than accept what is presented to us in a book or by a priest?

Like Doubting Thomas perhaps Cartaphilus is guilty of wanting to find out about the world for himself. For Thomas it was instigated by doubt, for Cartaphilus it was instigated by a curse but are both men not wiser?

Can their be contentment in ignorance? I think not. The journey will be long and winding but I have two feet and a brain, I say 'let's begin walking'. Will you walk with me?


For more information ...
wandering jew
doubting thomas

winter picks

Those of you who were concerned for my liver after reading my fall picks can now rest easy as this past winter saw moderate imbibing. I sampled 16 new wines and was surprised that 9 of those were whites as I thought the cold winter months might see me crack open more reds. I mostly tried French and Spanish wines but also managed to quaff a few from the US and Australia also.

I have only three recommendations from my tastings.

1. Twenty Bench, Cabernet Sauvignon, 2003 - Napa Valley, California, USA (17/20)
"fruity, cedar, smoky but not overpowering", for more tasting notes look here

2. Abrazo Gran Reserva, Carinena, Garnacha, Tempranillo, 1996 - Spain (16/20)
"more full bodied that the regular Abrazo, different but also good"

3. Hillside Estate, Reserve Series, Muscat Ottonel, 2004 - Okanagan, Canada (16/20)
"a different grape, peachy, citrus, orange, slightly fizzy, sweet and nice"

So nothing from France made my recommendations although an Alsace wine (Pierre Sparr, 0ne, 2004) came close. I was really impressed with the Twenty Bench but at $25 (17EURO, 12UKP, $AUS29) I would say it was a little expensive for everyday indulgence.

The regular Abrazo made my fall list and so it is no surprise to me the Gran Reserva made this list. The Gran Reserva has tempranillo whereas the regular Abrazo has not, I felt it was more full bodied but I am not sure this is due to the tempranillo.

Finally the inclusion of a Canadian wine is no 'sympathy vote', the wines from Hillside Estate are very good and this wine is very different from other wines I have tried. We picked it up whilst visiting the vineyard a couple of years ago so unfortunately it is probably quite hard to come by even in Canada.

I expect for Spring I will drink more US wines. Good Australian wine continues to elude me, getting a corked Wolf Blass Sauvignon Blanc recently did not help their reputation but I am a forgiving-sort so I expect I will give them a try again. Hic!

For more information ...
twenty bench
abrazo gran reserve
hillside estate

to a butterfly

lani morioka walking to group showers in a US WWII internment camp

I've watched you now a full half-hour;
Self-poised upon that yellow flower
And, little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless!--not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!

This plot of orchard-ground is ours;
My trees they are, my Sister's flowers;
Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We'll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.

Stay near me--do not take thy flight!
A little longer stay in sight!
Much converse do I find in thee,
Historian of my infancy!
Float near me; do not yet depart!
Dead times revive in thee:
Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art!
A solemn image to my heart,
My father's family!

Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days,
The time, when, in our childish plays,
My sister Emmeline and I
Together chased the butterfly!
A very hunter did I rush
Upon the prey:--with leaps and springs
I followed on from brake to bush;
But she, God love her, feared to brush
The dust from off its wings.

William Wordsworth, 1801 (1770-1850)


This is yet another poem from my son's nursery rhyme collection. In that book just the first two verses are given but from them I figured that this was not just another pantheist hymn of Wordsworths. A quick internet search revealed the last two verses and from them we see hints of a more personal story.

Wordsworth lost his mother when he was eight and was sent to school, away from his beloved sister Dorothy who was six at the time. Five years later their father died. William and his sister had a close attachment from an early age which they were able to renew in later years. From 1799 to 1813 they shared a house in the lake district and this poem was written during that particularly creative period. Unfortunately Dorothy who was sensitive as a child spent the last twenty years of her life suffering with mental illness.

The poem perhaps gives us a glimpse of happy times the siblings spent together. Like much lyric poetry I feel this poem is meant to be sung. I have sung it to my boy for the past three weeks and the musical quality come through each time. The photo seemed to capture some of the childhood innocence and also the separation the poem evokes.

For more information ...
william wordsworth
june utako morioko