Here's a poem...

... for a rainy Friday. It's an anonymous medieval English lyric, I believe, and I have always loved it. For some reason, it popped up in my head this morning, and I have been unable to let it go. It's a little ode to the western wind (yes, spelled "westron" here):

O westron wind, when wilt thou blow

The small rain down can rain.

Christ, that my love were in my arms

And I in my bed again!

I think it's that "Christ" that clinches it. It's the urgency of the thing, its extraordinary simplicity, its authenticity. What words could say it better?

That's all for today. And isn't it enough?