I can hardly capture the beauty of the light right now beneath the apple tree. Reading Longfellow and trying to still my sad heart:
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
(In a letter to Theo, Vincent quoted the last two lines and added bleakly,”isn’t the number of dark and dreary days sometimes too great?”)