A couple of weeks ago, I watched a chick-flick, The Jane Austen Book Club. Of course, this led to re-reading Pride and Prejudice, which this evening was completed and returned to the bookshelf.
Hungering for something else to read, I pulled a copy of Ovid’s The Metamorphoses from the shelf.
I’d read this back in high school when, as part of my riotous youth, I aspired to become a writer of Things Largely Unread. Like, for example, The Metamorphoses.
Having focussed on the hilarity of the stories during my adolescence, I was surprised to rediscover the poetry of the piece and on this blustery day found the following particularly appropriate:
Of the Four Winds: each had his home and yet
So wildly the Brothers quarrel, even now
The world is almost torn in a war of winds.