A rather uneventful day of gray skies and cool temperatures, but capped off by a bright sunset.

Two big events: the trimming of the rosemary bush (now at least 3 years old) in advance of its being brought indoors, and the making (and enjoying of) Green Texas Chili.

But then, in the poetry department, the poem below is, in my opinion, a fine piece of work, worth reading and thinking about. And here is the question: What are the 5 swords?

The Guitar

Federico García Lorca
translated by Cola Franzen

The weeping of the guitar
begins.
The goblets of dawn
are smashed.
The weeping of the guitar
begins.
Useless
to silence it.
Impossible
to silence it.
It weeps monotonously
as water weeps
as the wind weeps
over snowfields.
Impossible
to silence it.
It weeps for distant
things.
Hot southern sands
yearning for white camellias.
Weeps arrow without target
evening without morning
and the first dead bird
on the branch.
Oh, guitar!
Heart mortally wounded
by five swords.