I captured a photo of this swan couple during a walk today. They are calmness, they are grace, they are commitment. Black and white, this sight makes me think of my dear old neighbor who lost her husband of sixty years this week, and of her pain.
The words of W. B. Yeats fill the gray skies above the swans:
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
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