With the gibbous Moon swiftly moving across the eastern sky: she was below the tree tops when I began Matins but had cleared them and moved south by the time the Warrington Mass began at 0400.
Lest I forget again. Eleanor Parker's weekend email was about several different subjects, all relating to the harvest season (Lammastide) that we are about to enter. In 975, a comet, King Edgar's death, civil strife, for example. Her blog, A Clerk of Oxford, and then her Patreon site is here.
... A good harvest is the product of a huge amount of labour, but its success or failure is also ultimately out of human control; even the best farmer can't influence the weather. Perhaps this is partly why a bad harvest might seem particularly meaningful at a moment when political power was contested and fraught, when the gap was very wide between the infinite power of the 'Lord of the angels' and the circumscribed, frail, mortal power of the 'king of the Angles'. However, the suggestion in the last line of the poem is that once earthly power and the power of the earth were more in harmony, there could be a better harvest - both literally and metaphorically.
I would say that when the earthly power and the "infinite power of the 'Lord of the angels'" are in harmony, then "there (can) be a better harvest-- both literally and metaphorically".
A Twitter friend pointed out that I ought to have been able to see the comet this morning, the sky being so clear. I might have done if I had been looking out for it. Tomorrow, I hope.
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