SONNET 73
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish’d by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
William Shakespeare
Image: psalm 163
Roger Vincent Jasaitis 
Roger, I realized I was holding my breath as I read this wonderful work. Thank you for this and your lovely images.
Ginger
I agree. The sonnet is a WOW.
Love the video, I say this almost in jest but watching you work was incredibly relaxing. Great job on the fade out with the sound of the wood cracking and birds chirping still heard as screen went to black.
PS:
NJLJ’s guitar playing is really improving! 🙂
Relaxing to you, meditative to me, in spite of the work aspect. In the moment, I find this type of labor can be meditative. I’m glad that you picked up on that 🙂