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Make hay when the sun shines!
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✨⭐️✨🇬🇧🇦🇹
Make hay when the sun shines!

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Joanna Newsom singing of mothers & daughters
The light has changed;
middle C is tuned darker now.
And the songs of morning sound over-rehearsed. —
This is the light of autumn, not the light of spring.
The light of autumn: you will not be spared.
The songs have changed; the unspeakable
has entered them.
This is the light of autumn, not the light that says
I am reborn.
Not the spring dawn: I strained, I suffered, I was delivered.
This is the present, an allegory of waste.
So much has changed. And still, you are fortunate:
the ideal burns in you like a fever.
Or not like a fever, like a second heart.
The songs have changed, but really they are still quite beautiful.
They have been concentrated in a smaller space, the space of the mind.
They are dark, now, with desolation and anguish.
And yet the notes recur. They hover oddly
in anticipation of silence.
The ear gets used to them.
The eye gets used to disappearances.
You will not be spared, nor will what you love be spared.
A wind has come and gone, taking apart the mind;
it has left in its wake a strange lucidity.
How privileged you are, to be passionately
clinging to what you love;
the forfeit of hope has not destroyed you.
Maestro, doloroso:
This is the light of autumn; it has turned on us.
Surely it is a privilege to approach the end
still believing in something.
make hay - joanna newsom / averno, louise glücks.
SO LONG, MY OLD FRIEND DIED THAT WAY: THE ACCUMULATION OF TIME, AND THE PASSING OF DAYS, THOUGH SHE DUG IN HER HEELS, DRUG HER WHEELS IN THE CLAY—
AND THE RATTLING NIB WRITES, “WHAT DID I MAKE?”

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YOU WERE THE KEEPER OF THE LIONS
WHERE BUZZARDS MAKE CIRCLES AND TILLERS MAKE HAY
AND HOW WAS I TO KNOW, SEEING MY SECONDS PASSING IN LINE, IF THERE WAS A WAY TO RECKON LOVE EXCEPT AS A SYMPTOM OF TIME