November 6, 2017:
Sitting on the wall with bread and cookies, this is what we read aloud:
Fire of the night, that brings my spirit day,
Shedding on Argos light, and dance, and song,
Greetings to fortune, hail!
Let my loud summons ring within the ears
Of Agamemnon's queen, that she anon
Start from her couch and with a shrill voice cry
A joyous welcome to the beacon-blaze,
For Ilion's fall; such fiery message gleams
From yon high flame; and I, before the rest,
Will foot the lightsome measure of our joy;
For I can say, My master's dice fell fair —
Behold! the triple sice, the lucky flame!
Now be my lot to clasp, in loyal love,
The hand of him restored, who rules our home:
Home — but I say no more: upon my tongue
Treads hard the ox o' the adage.
It's December 17, 1979. We're alone with the site, and the ghosts of tragedy. This hill, we think, is where the signal fire would have appeared, informing Queen Clytemnestra of the fall of Troy, and shortly, the return of her husband the King.
Have another cookie while we meditate on that.