By Edna St. Vincent Millay
O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!
Thy mists that roll and rise!
Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag
And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag
To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!
World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!
Long have I known a glory in it all,
But never knew I this;
Here such a passion is
As stretcheth me apart. Lord, I do fear
Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year.
My soul is all but out of me, let fall
No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.
Paul worked from home in the morning so that at lunchtime we could go pick up Daniel from College Park, where the university locked all its dorms this evening for winter break. It was an overcast but pretty day, not too cold, and though there were a lot of cars in the public lots for winter commencement, we had no trouble getting in and out of the dorm pretty quickly (stopping at the convenience store so Daniel could spend his remaining Terp Bucks on snacks and drinks, since they don't carry over to next semester). When we got home I had to fold laundry -- Daniel brought two loads home with him -- and since he has seen The Hobbit and we have not, he wanted to watch the Rankin/Bass Hobbit, which we did to much snickering.
After dinner (homemade pizza) we were looking for something to watch and wound up with Transformers: Dark of the Moon, which I expected to be ridiculous crack and it is, with all the usual Michael Bay flaws (screaming women, too many explosions), but it has loads of delights I had no idea to expect: footage of JFK and the moon landing, Buzz Aldrin as himself, John Malkovich as the egotistical boss, Frances McDormand as the head of the CIA, Josh Duhamel looking pretty, the Milwaukee Art Museum looking prettier (