A Few Yellow Leaves

Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold

BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day

As after sunset fadeth in the west,

Which by and by black night doth take away,

Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the death-bed whereon it must expire,

Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45099/sonnet-73-that-time-of-year-thou-mayst-in-me-behold

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.  Saturday morning I was out on the balcony, in the Autumn sun, listening to the sound of the sea as it came and went on our pebbly beach. Wonderful.  It is the sound of eternity.  I have always loved it, for more than seventy years now.

We had our flu shots; I made a bean and veggie casserole for lunch, did a load of washing, and prepared Col's packed lunch for Sunday. Or at any rate the mysterious Sandwich Fairy did.

Sunday morning we had a violent thunderstorm, with torrential rain - this was early as the alarm went off early so that Captain Moth-Butterfly could fly away to The Field before it opened.  I Zoomed to the meeting at the Kingdom Hall, and joined the Sunday session of M.A.B.L.E. - still on youtube.   Sunday evening it thunderstormed again - even closer, even heavier rain.  And I have woken up today to a cloudy sky and a restless sea.  And a relentless cough.

I doubt that the flu jab and the fearsome fortnightly injection of immuno-suppressant has helped me much, but I have reached that stage of life - past my sell-by date - when one medicine clashes with another and it's not at all clear cut whether it would do more harm to take the stuff than not take it. So I have decided to be grateful that the NHS is still here and take what it offers.

In harmony with that thought I have a hospital appointment this week and next, both regular check-ups.

Even if it does its best, the NHS can only keep me alive for a few more years anyway.   I doubt I will make it much past 80 somehow.   

However, I do hope to live forever on this lovely planet, as the Bible promises. But if I will get there - and how I will get there - I do not know.  If I do, will it be by surviving through Armageddon, for which I will need to have put my faith in the ransom sacrifice of Jesus Christ, not in any merit or effort of my own?  Or will it be through the resurrection?  Who knows?  Not me.  But I have real hope.

I want to be here on the earth, a million years from now, with Captain Moth-Butterfly and all those I love, which includes you my readers, listening to the sound of the sea coming and going, coming and going, with a million years of happiness behind us, and unnumbered years of happiness to come.  I hope Will Shakespeare will be there too.  His poems tell us that he saw the beauty of the creation and lamented the sadness, the tragedy, that we are presently living in.  

What will he write then, when all sadness is a thing of the past?