Moscow is a pocket of joy, especially today. The sky is blue, but it’s not a friendly, midsummery sort of blue; it’s more like the color you see on a forty-five degree fall day, the kind where the sidewalk dances under your feet and the buildings meet the sky. It’s the kind of day that doesn’t need coffee to survive, where you can almost hear the words to the tune that composes the world. The lichen on the tree glows yellow in the noon sun, smiling up at the God that made it.
For my Brit Lit class. Old English poetry has a split in the middle of each line, with two accented syllables on either side of it. The first of the second pair of syllables has to start with the same sound as one of the ones on the first half of the line…it doesn’t have to rhyme, but I liked it better when it did.
When darkness reigned and dimmed the sky,
The stars knew not their seats on high.
The Sun had yet to spill her grace
On Earth’s broad span, the shadowed-place.
Then one light flashed and filled the gap,
And Darkness fled to dens unmap’d.
The Fauns and Satyrs found their way
From holes deep hid’, and hailed the day.
The winged-ones came from winds-retreat,
They sang delight at Dark’s defeat.
The gods ascended to great Mount Ida;
And sphinxes dwelt in south Al Minya.
The Kings arose and reigned with might;
The people passed the period of Night.
Mankind grew strong, and cared for life;
When Time decreed, they captured Strife
And did not let him loose again,
Till man-kind lost what might have been.