Sadness.

I was talking to a young woman today about whether she still needed to be on historic medications which began before our engagement. I find her fragile. But, more importantly she is absurdly wise and competent. Her reply astonished me with its beauty.

‘I suffer with incapable sadness.’

Yes, I thought, but silently. I didn’t want to obscure her words, ‘The world is full of weeping’. Yeats. I inwardly murmur those lines many times each day. Like a mantra. The other link in that chain of being comes from William Blake. I wish murmurations didn’t principally apply to a swarm of starlings.

Joy and woe are woven fine,

A clothing for the soul divine. William Blake