Aftermath

Aftermath
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

When the summer fields are mown,
When the birds are fledged and flown,
And the dry leaves strew the path;
With the falling of the snow,
With the cawing of the crow,
Once again the fields we mow
And gather in the aftermath.

Not the sweet, new grass with flowers
Is this harvesting of ours;
Not the upland clover bloom;
But the rowan mixed with weeds,
Tangled tufts from marsh and meads,
Where the poppy drops its seeds
In the silence and the gloom.


Welcome to the aftermath of exams. I have been walloped by my annual end-of-the-school-year sickness. It happens every year; I run on adrenalin mixed with stress and add in a dash of sleeplessness for about a month and so as soon as exams are over and I relax for a second my body succumbs to some illness or another. Last year it was the flu, this year it seems to be a deadly cold. Of course, I also have to work all weekend/most of next week, I need to move out of the apartment on Tuesday, I have an interview to go to on Thursday and grad is in a week. So, in short, a rather inconvenient week to be sick. As long as I have meds in my system I can do a convincing impression of someone who is not dying. It's a tricky balance for me though. If you know me, you know that my stomach and I have a bit of a testy relationship. Well, one of the things that does not generally go well is medication of any kind. I seem to have found a balance that works. At least, it has worked for one day. We will see how long I can make it last.

We read this poem in the second half of intro English in my first year of university. That was the class that made me fall in love with poetry. Every time I hear the word "aftermath" I think of this poem now. It is so beautiful.