Funny Day Today (after Wordsworth)

A funny day — though calm and still,
The morning light on windowpane
Fell just the same; the kettle’s trill
Rose, silver-sweet, as if no chain
Had loosed me from that ordered will
That bound my life to labour’s gain.

Yet I, though severed from the throng,
Still take my seat, my post, my place,
And bid the idle hours prolong
Their mimicry of work’s embrace.
The same old screen, the same old song —
But softer now, with gentler grace.

The machines hum on — a friendly sound,
Though none are masters now but me.
No VPN, no coded bound,
No clock to chase eternally.
The freedom feels both vast, profound,
And edged with frail uncertainty.

Eight years have passed since last I stood
Upon this brink of loss and change;
Then burned the will to do, and good,
And rage against the life made strange.
Now older grown, I find I would
Let life drift wide, not rearrange.

For near at hand, the twilight gleams —
Five years till rest, till Pru shall pay;
And what is left? but quieter dreams,
And laughter at the world’s array.
The wind is kind, the sunlight streams —
A funny, peaceful day today.

(variation 2)

Funny Day Today

Funny day today —
the air feels half-empty, half-free.
No boss's ping, no Monday dread,
but still I rise, still I make tea.

Strange, this freedom
with its quiet edge of fear —
liberation's a bird that flies
but circles back once bills appear.

I sit where I always sat,
log in, tap keys, pretend —
though now the screens I reach
belong to me, not to "the firm" or "the trend."

No VPN hums its secret tune,
no Teams call breaks the calm.
Just me, my Pi, a cloud or two,
and silence soft as balm.

Eight years ago, this hit like fire,
a burn of panic, drive, and need —
today it's embers, low desire,
a shrug where once was speed.

Five years till pension — a blink, a breath,
and maybe that's the gift today:
to care a little less for loss,
and laugh at what won't stay.

Funny day today —
to lose, and somehow gain.
Between the work that's gone and done,
and all that still remains.