May 29, 2010

So dark the LED lilies still gleam on either side of the garden walk. There was enough light for me to run out and inspect the garden after yesterday evening’s hailstorm. I expected the worst, but, squinting through the pale rays of the east, I saw little damage, even to the implausible, spotless orange lily sprung up like an exploding crayon. Lopped off the heads of the valerian, which I would have thought the hardest targets. I had longed for rain, but when it came it was a wrath-of-God deluge, instantly flooding the storm sewers and turning Merrimon Avenue into a series of scalloped tidal waves, great volumes backed up at the sewer mouths. We drove to church in the midst of it, and by the time we got to Pack Square, the earth was dry, and there had been no rain at all.

We had been driving to church to hear Bill Stokes’ organ recital, which was varied and engaging and excellent. People who understand such things remark what an exquisite touch he has, and I believe them. I am not a connoisseur of organ, and it seemed to me bold and clear playing, of pieces, but for one, which I had not heard before. The one was the Vidor which everyone plays to show off. Bill was not showing off, but greeting the music like a comfortable old friend. He’s been here for the better part of the week. It was great seeing him here again, where he fit back and belonged instantly. Dinner with him and other of his old time friends down in Biltmore.

One thing ruined by the storm was a copy of Smithsonian magazine which I’d left on the window sill, in which I was introduced to William Henry Ireland and his forgeries of Shakespeare, notably Vortigern and Rowena and Henry II. Put a plot for a play in my own head.