By William Carlos Williams
The half-stripped trees
struck by a wind together,
bending all,
the leaves flutter drily
and refuse to let go
or driven like hail
stream bitterly out to one side
and fall
where the salvias, hard carmine,—
like no leaf that ever was—
edge the bare garden.
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There has really not been an appropriate day all season to post this poem so I might as well post it today. It was slightly colder on Tuesday than on Monday, when I believe it hit 60 degrees; it was only in the 50s when I went walking in Cabin John Park while younger son was at tennis, but that's perfect weather for walking by the creek (very low -- it's been a dry winter as well as a warm one) watching a pair of deer trotting along the opposite bank to stay away from one of the many dogs that people walk without leashes in the park.
I have little else to report; work, laundry, lots of work on a silly project, being driven crazy by people who shall remain nameless about something that should be a good thing rather than a big source of stress but it's not turning out that way. Paul watched Beginners with me because it was a 48-hour rental and he figured he'd watch it while we have it for free, then we watched Ringer which remains entertaining fluff (I don't miss Glee when it's not on but I do miss the double dose of SMG). I ran late again so here are photos of me, Paul and Dementordelta at Longwood Gardens on Sunday, flower photos to come:
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