The night sets softly
With the hush of falling leaves,
Casting shivering shadows
On the houses through the trees,
And the light from a street lamp
Paints a pattern on my wall,
Like the pieces of a puzzle
Or a child’s uneven scrawl.
Up a narrow flight of stairs
In a narrow little room,
As I lie upon my bed
In the early evening gloom.
Impaled on my wall
My eyes can dimly see
The pattern of my life
And the puzzle that is me.
From the moment of my birth
To the instant of my death,
There are patterns I must follow
Just as I must breathe each breath.
Like a rat in a maze
The path before me lies,
And the pattern never alters
Until the rat dies.
And the pattern still remains
On the wall where darkness fell,
And it’s fitting that it should,
For in darkness I must dwell.
Like the color of my skin,
Or the day that I grow old,
My life is made of patterns
That can scarcely be controlled.
Words by Paul Simon
February 14th, 2013 at 12:36 pm
the sadness overwhelms me as I read the words and look at the pictures knowing how those patterns fit us all
February 15th, 2013 at 12:22 am
Much of my generation venerated Dylan, justifiably, as the poet of our lives. I continue to listen to him and have marvelled as he and I have grown up and old together. Yet, I am always struck by Simon’s work and words. Even as a very young man, which he was when he wrote this, he understood the whole of life.
February 14th, 2013 at 10:01 am
I would love to go here someday. Thanks for sharing this with us.
February 15th, 2013 at 12:49 am
It is a lovely building.
February 14th, 2013 at 8:11 am
Wonderful pictures … and words
That building is awesome!
February 15th, 2013 at 12:49 am
It is a great building. Thanks
February 14th, 2013 at 5:46 am
Lovely photos
February 14th, 2013 at 6:50 am
Thank you