Without Lifting A Finger

Here the enormous whirlpool gapes aswirl with filth, seethes and spews out all its silt in the Wailing River. 340 And here the dreaded ferryman guards the flood, grisly in his squalor—Charon… his scraggly beard a tangled mat of white, his eyes fixed in a fiery stare, and his grimy rags hang down from his shoulders by a knot. But all on his own he punts his craft with a pole and hoists sail as he ferries the dead souls in his rust-red skiff. He’s on in years, but a god’s old age is hale and green.

 

But first go down to the House of Death, the Underworld, go through Avernus’ depths, my son, to seek me, meet me there. I am not condemned to wicked Tartarus, those bleak shades, I live in Elysium, the luminous fields where the true and faithful gather. A chaste Sibyl will guide you there, once you have offered the blood of many pure black sheep. And then you will learn your entire race to come and the city walls that will be made your own. Now farewell. Dank Night wheels around 820 in mid-career, cruel Dawn breaks in the East, and I feel her panting stallions breathing near.” With that, he fled into thin air like a wisp of smoke.

Then Juno in all her power, filled with pity for Dido’s agonizing death, her labor long and hard, sped Iris down from Olympus to release her spirit wrestling now in a deathlock with her limbs. Since she was dying a death not fated or deserved, no, tormented, before her day, in a blaze of passion— Proserpina had yet to pluck a golden lock from her head and commit her life to the Styx and the dark world below. 870 So Iris, glistening dew, comes skimming down from the sky on gilded wings, trailing showers of iridescence shimmering into the sun, and hovering over Dido’s head, declares: “So commanded, I take this lock as a sacred gift to the God of Death, and I release you from your body.” With that, she cut the lock with her hand and all at once the warmth slipped away, the life dissolved in the winds.

Rereading Virgil's Aeneid (Fagle's translation). What I remembered is that many of the best parts were related to Dido.;) * Dido, her lips parted, pores over their entrails, throbbing still, for signs… But, oh, how little they know, the omniscient seers.  What good are prayers and shrines to a person mad with love?  The flame keeps gnawing into her tender marrow hour by hour and deep in her heart the silent wound lives on. Dido burns with love—the tragic queen.

Well, I believe this to be the Solitary Sandpiper @ the El Dorado Park Duck Pond in Long Beach CA. If so: Lifer. If not: You'll tell me.;) A bit tricky to ID because he's got some other near-look-alikes stopping in too (also looking very "solitary"): the spotless Spotted Sandpiper and the Greater Yellowlegs. (Hope you have your shopping finished and can now lean back in your easychair and read a good book.) Happy Holidays!!! 🎄💗🎄💗 #rlswihart #longbeachca #eldoradopark #duckpond #sandpipersofinstagram #solitarysandpiper #ilovesandpipers #christmas2024💗🎄💗🎄 #nature #poetry #beauty #readmorepoetry2024♥️ #thebigclockisticking