Billy Strings - Uncloudy Day

 

Remember to look for the daffodils.

 

In grief my love,

look for the daffodils.

It may not be actual daffodils of course.

It might in fact be the sunrise outside your window as you draw back the curtains one morning.

It might be the decision to draw back the curtains at all, after weeks of being comforted by the dark.

It might be walking past their photo and smiling instead of crying;

or picking up that empty mug on the coffee table that hasn’t been moved since they left.

It might be a message from a friend that you now feel ready to answer; and it might be that meal you cook for yourself after days of surviving on not very much at all.

Because in the winter of grief,

these are all signs of spring; they are the beacons of hope that perhaps there are lighter days to come. Days that are a little less harsh. Less dark. Less bleak.

Winter always comes back of course, and so there will be times when the darkness returns: when you find solace in the closed curtains and in the empty mugs.

But each time,

remember to hold on to hope. To the signs of spring.

Remember to look for the daffodils.

*****

I've been seeing the daffodils spring to life round me recently, and I've been reminded of this poem.

Becky Hemsley 2025

Beautiful artwork by Aimee Ruoff Art

This is from my second grief and loss collection.

Source: Becky Hemsley Poetry on Facebook

***** ***** ***** *****

It may not even be actual daffodils…

But something about them carries a quiet kind of magic. The kind that gently pulls you back into moments you didn’t realize you’d tucked away so carefully.

This poem by Becky Hemsley hit me differently today — maybe because this time of year always does. There’s something about those in-between days… when Spring tiptoes in just enough to be noticed, then slips away behind a nippy breeze.

I can feel it though — that shift.

I am a better version of myself when the sun lingers a little longer, when the air softens, when the first blooms start to appear. When the world feels like it’s waking up again.

The anticipation might be my favorite part — knowing what’s coming. Warm days. Open windows. Birds singing like they’ve been waiting all winter just to be heard.

And somewhere in all of that… the daffodils blooming again.

By me... My thoughts... polished by chatgpt.

It may not be actual daffodil's...

But they do have a strange magic that makes me reflect on memories of the past when I see them. This poem from Becky Hemsley hits differently. I am a better human when the sun is shining and the daffodils are blooming. When Spring is creeping in on select days and the contrast of nippy days like today increases anticipation for the warm Spring days and beautiful daffodils blooming, and the birds singing their hearts song.

********************************

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

By William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

Source: Poetry Foundation

The Greatest Guitarist Ever

 

The greatest guitar solo ever recorded wasn't about speed or skill—it was about making four minutes feel like flying and falling at the same time.

Cambridge, England, 1960s. A teenager named David Gilmour sat in his bedroom, guitar across his lap, listening to the same blues records over and over until he'd absorbed not just the notes, but the spaces between them.

His parents—his father a zoology lecturer, his mother a film teacher—couldn't give him wealth, but they gave him something better: permission to care about beauty.

They bought him his first guitar. They let him chase something that couldn't be measured in exam scores or career prospects.

David learned to play by asking a different question than most guitarists: Not "how fast can I play?" but "how much can I make you feel?"

THE PHONE CALL THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

By 1967, David was playing in small bands around London—talented but struggling, like thousands of other musicians trying to break through.

Then his childhood friend's band called with an impossible request.

Syd Barrett had been David's friend since they were teenagers in Cambridge. Syd was brilliant—wildly creative, charismatic, the kind of talent that seemed touched by something otherworldly.

In 1965, Syd co-founded Pink Floyd. By 1967, they were one of Britain's most exciting psychedelic bands, with Syd as the creative visionary.

But Syd started slipping away.

Not physically—though sometimes he'd stand on stage and simply not play, staring into nothing. But mentally, he was fading—lost to LSD, mental illness, or both.

Pink Floyd had concerts booked. They called David in December 1967: "Can you help us? Just temporarily, until Syd gets better?"

David said yes—to help his friend, to keep the band alive, not knowing he was saying goodbye.

REBUILDING FROM ASHES

Losing Syd should have killed Pink Floyd. He'd been the songwriter, the vision, the creative engine.

But what remained—Roger Waters (bass), Richard Wright (keyboards), Nick Mason (drums), and now David—decided to rebuild.

Roger began writing darker, more conceptual material. Richard's keyboards created atmospheric soundscapes. Nick's drumming provided a precise foundation.

David became the band's emotional soul.

His guitar didn't scream for attention. It whispered truths you didn't know you needed to hear.

Through the early 1970s, they found their sound. Then, in 1973, they created something that transcended music.

THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOON

The Dark Side of the Moon wasn't just an album—it was a complete artistic statement about existence itself: time, death, madness, money, the crushing weight of being human.

David's contributions defined its sound:

The guitar on "Time" captured the terror of wasted years.

The vocals on "Breathe" made melancholy feel like meditation.

The solo on "Money" turned greed into groove.

The album stayed on the Billboard charts for over 900 consecutive weeks. It became the soundtrack to a generation's introspection.

THE SOLO THAT DEFINES A GENERATION

If you mention David Gilmour to music fans, they'll say one thing:

"Comfortably Numb."

The final guitar solo from The Wall—four minutes that have made millions cry.

It's not the fastest solo ever played. Not the most technically complex.

But it might be the most emotionally perfect.

David recorded it in a small room with a practice amp. Largely improvised. Pure emotion translated directly through his fingertips.

That solo has been voted the greatest guitar solo of all time in countless polls.

Because David Gilmour never tried to impress you with technique. He tried to make you feel.

Source: Caylus on Facebook

I never lost anything.

 

BEST POEM IN THE WORLD

 

BEST POEM IN THE WORLD

I was shocked , confused, bewildered

as I entered Heaven's door,

not by the beauty of it all,

nor the lights or its decor.

But it was the folks in Heaven

who made me sputter and gasp--

the thieves, the liars, the sinners,

the alcoholics and the trash.

There stood the kid from seventh grade

who swiped my lunch money twice.

Next to him was my old neighbor

who never said anything nice.

Bob, who I always thought

was rotting away in hell,

was sitting pretty on cloud nine,

looking incredibly well.

I nudged Jesus, 'What's the deal?

I would love to hear Your take.

How'd all these sinners get up here?

God must've made a mistake!.'

'And why is everyone so quiet,

so somber - give me a clue.'

'Hush, child,' He said,

'they're all in shock.

No one thought they'd be seeing you.'

(Author unknown )

Source: I shared this from somewhere on Facebook to my Facebook in March 2018.

Sophia Smith

She was unmarried, deaf, and believed women didn't need college. She left her entire fortune, $400,000 in 1870, to prove them wrong.

Sophia Smith was 62 years old in 1863 when the last of her family passed away, leaving her alone in her Massachusetts mansion. Unmarried, increasingly deaf, and with no children or heirs, she found herself extraordinarily wealthy, one of the richest women in New England. But there was a problem: she didn't know what to do with it.

In 1860s America, women like Sophia had few options. They couldn't vote, hold public office, or serve on boards. Wealthy single women were expected to live quietly, donate to charity, and leave their fortune to male relatives. But Sophia Smith wasn't content with that. She wanted her wealth to mean something.

Her fortune came from her father and brothers' smart investments in railroads and manufacturing during America's industrial rise. When her last brother died, she inherited around $400,000, roughly $9.5 million today. However, she wanted more than just money. She wanted to change something fundamental about the world that had limited her.

Sophia turned to her pastor, Reverend John Morton Greene, for advice. What should she do with her fortune? He proposed something radical: create a college for women.

The idea struck a chord with Sophia. Women couldn't attend Harvard, Yale, or other prestigious universities. The few female schools that existed offered only limited curricula, teaching "ladylike" skills rather than serious academic subjects. Sophia, who had educated herself through books, knew this was wrong.

In March 1870, at the age of 73, Sophia finalized her will. She directed that her entire fortune be used to establish a college for women, offering them the same educational opportunities that men enjoyed at top universities. No "female version" of education. Equal, not lesser.

Sophia Smith died in June 1870, just months after signing her will. She never saw the college she envisioned or met the students who would benefit from it. But her will was clear, and trustees were committed to honoring her vision.

In 1871, Smith College was chartered. By 1875, it opened its doors to fourteen students, offering them the same rigorous curriculum as men at Harvard. Critics argued that women couldn't handle such studies, but Smith College graduates proved them wrong.

Sophia Smith's vision was realized at a pivotal moment in American history. The women's rights movement was gaining strength, and the college gave women the education they needed to break barriers. Smith College graduates became leaders in fields like science, law, and activism, shaping the world for generations.

Sophia Smith had no idea her legacy would grow so large. Today, Smith College continues to be a leader in women's education, all thanks to a deaf, unmarried woman who decided her wealth should empower women she would never meet.

She couldn't attend college herself.

So she built one.

#SophiaSmith #SmithCollege #WomensHistory #EducationForAll #WomenWhoChanged History

Source ~The History Today on Facebook

Afterparty

 

I held a party the other week and grief came.

She wasn’t invited but she came anyway - barged her way in through the door and settled down like she was here to stay.

And then she introduced me to the friends she’d brought with her - Anger. Fear. Frustration. Guilt. Hopelessness.

And they sang in the loudest voices, took up space in every corner of the room and spoke over anyone else that tried to talk.

They made it messy and loud and uncomfortable.

But finally, they left.

And long afterwards, when I was all alone,

I realised there was still someone here.

Quietly clearing up after the rest.

I asked who she was and she told me, “Love.”

And I assumed that’s why she looked familiar - because I had met her before.

“Or perhaps,” she said, “it’s because I’ve been here the whole time.”

And I was confused then because I hadn’t seen her all evening.

But when I looked more closely,

when I looked into her eyes,

I realised quietly that she had been here.

All the time.

She’d just been dressed as grief.

*****

Becky Hemsley 2023

Artwork by Valentina Bellucci via Saatchi Art.

‘Afterparty’ is from the book When I Am Gone

Source: Becky Hemsley Poetry on Facebook