The Future Is Unwritten
Lambs that learn to walk in snow
When their bleating clouds the air
Meet a vast unwelcome, know
Nothing but a sunless glare.
Newly stumbling to and fro
All they find, outside the fold,
Is a wretched width of cold.
As they wait beside the ewe,
Her fleeces wetly caked, there lies
Hidden round them, waiting too,
Earth's immeasureable surprise.
They could not grasp it if they knew,
What so soon will wake and grow
Utterly unlike the snow.
Philip Larkin, First Sight
So that's it- this journal has reached an end. It's had a good run- 2003-2008, very nearly five years, and now it's time to move on. I've always had a hard time letting go of things like this, symbolic things, things that represent periods of my life, but something tells me that now it's time to put this thing to rest.
Anyway, it's been fun divulging whatever aspects of my life I felt it fit to print.
So long, Livejournal.
When their bleating clouds the air
Meet a vast unwelcome, know
Nothing but a sunless glare.
Newly stumbling to and fro
All they find, outside the fold,
Is a wretched width of cold.
As they wait beside the ewe,
Her fleeces wetly caked, there lies
Hidden round them, waiting too,
Earth's immeasureable surprise.
They could not grasp it if they knew,
What so soon will wake and grow
Utterly unlike the snow.
Philip Larkin, First Sight
So that's it- this journal has reached an end. It's had a good run- 2003-2008, very nearly five years, and now it's time to move on. I've always had a hard time letting go of things like this, symbolic things, things that represent periods of my life, but something tells me that now it's time to put this thing to rest.
Anyway, it's been fun divulging whatever aspects of my life I felt it fit to print.
So long, Livejournal.