Saturday, April 25, 2015


I never understood the T.S. Eliot poem before this year.

Yesterday, the 24th of April, it was near freezing all day. Today there was sun,
but unwarming, distant, cool.

So, Eliot was right about April.

"April is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering         5
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,  10
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour."  T.S. Eliot, The Wasteland

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About Me

some ponderings by an aging white man who is an Episcopal priest in Connecticut. Now retired but still working and still wondering what it all means...all of it.