Day 79 Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth

June 8, 2020. Sunset 8:30 PM.
San Francisco, CA.
FYI Sunrise is at 5:47 AM every day for 2 weeks--- The light is stable for a moment.

Mardi came by this evening to read from Shakespeare’s Richard II:
No Fear Act 3 Scene 2 Page 6.

No matter where; of comfort no man speak:
145 Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth,
Let’s choose executors and talk of wills:
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath
150 Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives and all are Bolingbroke’s,
And nothing can we call our own but death
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
155 For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings;
How some have been deposed; some slain in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed;
Some poison’d by their wives: some sleeping kill’d;
160 All murder’d: for within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits,
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
165 To monarchize, be fear’d and kill with looks,
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life,
Were brass impregnable, and humour’d thus
Comes at the last and with a little pin
170 Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!
Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood
With solemn reverence: throw away respect,
Tradition, form and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while:
175 I live with bread like you, feel want,
Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus,
How can you say to me, I am a king?

Day 79 Sheltering in place. --BH