She Walks In Beauty Like The Night
She walks in beauty, like
the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
~ Lord Byron
The vestiges of Spring are all around us and yet we remain enthralled to a chill in the air and frost on the windows in the mornings. Buds are on the trees and shrubs, but winter yet clings to us. The snow drops carpet the floor of the woods like fairy confetti, strewn in a dance. Pale yellow primroses brave the chill and show their pretty heads in case a queen bumblebee is in need of refreshment after the long winter slumber. And a few bees, and even a butterfly have been on the wing already.
Before Winter slips away completely, ever deeper into the woods, we are paying tribute to The Midnight Hour, which although quite nice in Summer, comes into it's own with a cloudy, thundery sky or a blanket of frost and snow.
L'heure bleue or The Violet Hour has two chances each day, at open and close, to enchant us, and it does. Midnight comes but once so it needs to be spectacular to compete with those Twilights, and the setting and rising sun. Midnight succeeds we think.
Midnight has a heavy scent about it, in Winter the smell of the rain and the forests. In summer heavy with the honeysuckle, the jasmine and the night flowering stock. This scent does evoke it, and although Midnight isn't poison the name and the bottle are great.
It's the wrong time of the year to think about the spooky connotations of this hour. We will leave that until October. Wolves are frightening because they are wild, something in them recalls another life, long ago in us. We wish to run with them. More than any other time they belong to Midnight. So we will leave them there and go curl up with a cosy blanket and sleep until the day greets us. Unless of course we feel like a spot of dancing and then we have several versions of that Wilson Pickett classic, 'In The Midnight Hour' to listen to!
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x19ky3_midnight-hour-bruce-springsteen-wil_music
Mrs Black, I love your poetic writing about the seasons and the woodland fairies. I think you should put a book of poems together! ;-)
ReplyDeleteLord Byron's poetry is wonderful too!
Oh yes, the midnight hour is a magical time for the fae creatures of the night. ;-)
Thank you for visiting me and leaving a comment on my blog. Great to find you here!
Jo. xx
P.S. Black cats are one of my favourite cats. I had one when I was a child called Black Jack and he lived for 22 years!
ReplyDeleteHe was a dear friend and I still think about him with love.
Thank you for your 2 comments here, it is lovely to have you stopping by. I am glad you enjoyed it. I have not written in a long while but was inspired to do by your magical musings and makings. Your black cat sounds enchanting, and 22 is a grand age! (Black Jack is a great name for him too, perhaps he is related to Mrs Black. ; ~ )
Delete