More snow last night - the view out my window is gorgeous. Blue sky, deep blue ocean, everything covered in white, the hills on the far side of the harbour looking like they have been dusted with powdered sugar.

Worked on Sisters' books and we are all up-to-date and balanced. That feels good. The rest of the day should be stitching. Hopefully a bit more for my Oldest UFO SAL.

The Funeral

Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm
Nor question much
That subltle wreath of hair which crowns my arm;
The mystery, the sign you must not touch,
For 'tis my outward Soul,
Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone,
Will leave this to control,
And keep these limbs, her Provinces, from dissolution.

For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall
Through every part
Can tie those parts, and make me one of all;
These hairs which upward grew, and strength and art
Have from a better brain,
Can better do it; except she meant that I
By this should know my pain,
As prisoners then are manacled, when they're condemned to die.

Whate'er she meant by it, bury it with me,
For since I am
Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry,
If into others' hands these Relics came;
As 'twas humility
To afford to it all that a Soul can do,
So, 'tis some bravery,
That since you would save none of me, I bury some of you.

John Donne
1572 - 1631

And that's the end of Donne for a bit. He's talented, but he can be very depressing!