Rain, Memorial Day, chaotic dreams, and taking the day as slowly as I can
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,/ ... And wild plum trees in tremulous white/ ... And not one will know of the war, not one Will care at last when it is done From Sara Teasdale, " There Will Come Soft Rains " Memorial Day, and pouring rain. At least it's not that cold, but the pellet stove is still humming along--it's damp and uncomfortable. For years, when I was in high school, our band marched in parades, but more often, we just marched to cemeteries to honor the dead on Memorial Day. We had a very small band to begin with, and then people would not show up-- but I did. One year, I was up puking all night with food poisoning, but I went. That was the year that, when we figured out how few of us were there for the "parade," I marched beside a tuba and the drums. I played clarinet. No matter, though: we always had one talented trumpet player there to play taps from behind shrubbery. It was pretty moving, regardless. I have military mem...