Sunday, January 27, 2013

Poem for Sunday and January Snow

By Amy Lowell

You are ice and fire,
The touch of you burns my hands like snow.
You are cold and flame.
You are the crimson of amaryllis,
The silver of moon-touched magnolias.
When I am with you,
My heart is a frozen pond
Gleaming with agitated torches.


We had a very quiet domestic Saturday -- we did not go to NatsFest to meet President Taft, nor to the National Aquarium's Australia Day festivities. Adam, who got almost no sleep overnight because he was so sick, didn't get out of bed until late morning, Paul and I decided that since we'd started a cleanup project during the week, we might as well do some more of that, so we sorted all the old kids' clothes in Daniel's closet, set up some shelves in there, and moved old board games from shelves in the living room into the closet. Since Adam was exhausted, I walked our neighbor's dog in the snow for him.

In the evening we watched the US figure skating championships to see whether local girl Ashley Wagner could successfully defend the women's title and to see whether Gracie Gold was overhyped because she's blonde and pretty or whether she really had the goods after a terrible short program (without spoilers, let's just say it was a good night -- someone who knows more about skating than me, who's the gorgeous woman who skated to Swan Lake and designed her own costume?). Here are three photos from my day in the neighborhood -- a local snowman, the dog Adam usually walks every day, and cats keeping each other warm!

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