mjj (flemmings) wrote,
mjj
flemmings

A windy night is blowing on Rome

The Masefield poem has always been associated in my mind with November-like March, bare branches swaying in the early spring wind, which is what is happening tonight.

My brother lives in the Last Homely House and I wish I did too. He spent his inheritance renovating the place, so he never got to oh say live in Japan for five years. But now he has the nostalgic wooden floors and wallpaper and sideboards of a mini-Bedford, as he calls it, and quite by chance March sun shining through his side dormer windows which I wouldn't have even if the benighted former owners of my place hadn't taken all the dormers off, because the houses across the street don't line up that way. But whe I come in it smells of crockpot stew and there's always wine and cheese available, and good company and conversation, and how nice that would be if all my life choices had been completely different from what they were and I had been someone else entirely.
Tags: place, rl_19, verse
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