By Jane Hirshfield
I found myself
suddenly voluminous,
three-dimensioned,
a many-roofed building in moonlight.
Thought traversed
me as simply as moths might.
Feelings traversed me as fish.
I heard myself thinking,
It isn't the piano, it isn't the ears.
Then heard, too soon, the ordinary furnace,
the usual footsteps above me.
Washed my face again with hot water,
as I did when I was a child.
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We had a somewhat hectic Sunday with family, which was a fine way to spend a rainy day. Again both kids slept late after staying up past 2 a.m., so I read the Sunday paper and did various chores. Once we got them moving, we went to see my Aunt Shirley (apparently she loved Downton Abbey so this time I brought her Lost Empires), then we dropped Adam off at home so he could go see Titanic with Maddy and took Daniel to get a haircut he's needed since Thanksgiving (and me too). Adam stayed out for dinner and my parents came over for pizza with the rest of us; Daniel showed off his new computer to them until he had to pack it up.
We drove him back to College Park, then came home for an evening of Masterpiece Theatre -- the first episode of Birdsong, which didn't really grab me but it only has one more episode, then the premiere of the Upstairs Downstairs revival, which I know had its problems on UK TV but you know why I loved it -- Mrs. Simpson, the BBC announcer from The King's Speech as the butler, and every time Eileen Atkins lectured her son on the show I heard her doing the same thing as Colin Firth's mother from What a Girl Wants, so no matter how silly it gets I will be watching more. How much soapier than Downton Abbey can it be, anyway? Here are some photos of great blue herons at Lake Whetstone yesterday. Warning: Fish-eating.
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