The temperature is a delightful 24 degrees (Celsius) and a sweet wind blows. If only it were like this every day. With some clouds drifting high and the leaves rustling and shining in the light.
It proves too full of bounce on the train to write. So no poem, not even a capture of the impressions of multitudinous greens and golds flashing by outside, only a photo taken by friendly Portuguese lady of me in the station at Setubal. But my icloud uploading or perhaps downloading system has got hiccups so the pix are still on my iPhone and I can't download them onto my laptop.
How happy is he born and taught that serveth not the whims of this internet, is not ordered how to spell by a smart phone that assumes it knows best, and so forth...
So here are two pix of Setubal, in front of the station. Sun shining.
We had many long discussions about the economic situation in Portugal, Europe, and the world. And considered the disastrous impact on Spain and Portugal of the "discovery" of gold and silver in the New World. And jumped forward to the global scene today and I resolved to read Pikerty's book on Capital which sits upon one of the bookshelves in our boat.
On the other hand: after such knowledge, what forgiveness? to fling in a quote from T.S. Eliot. Not entirely appropriate, but rephrased I might say, after such knowledge, so what? Not in a cynical way, but more despairing at all one knows of the continuous onward crunching (generations have trod, have trod, have trod (G/M.Hopkins)) and dimming of the light. Or the Light.
Thoughts for a meditative moment. Maybe look at this Saint John? We saw him too in Setubal.