By D.H. Lawrence
See the stars, love,
In the water much clearer and brighter
Than those above us, and whiter,
Star-shadows shine, love,
How many stars in your bowl?
How many shadows in your soul,
Only mine, love, mine?
When I move the oars, love,
See how the stars are tossed,
Distorted, the brightest lost.
--So that bright one of yours, love.
The poor waters spill
The stars, waters broken, forsaken.
--The heavens are not shaken, you say, love,
Its stars stand still.
There, did you see
That spark fly up at us; even
Stars are not safe in heaven.
--What of yours, then, love, yours?
What then, love, if soon
Your light be tossed over a wave?
Will you count the darkness a grave,
And swoon, love, swoon?
The weather on Tuesday was painfully cold, though compared to other parts of the U.S. and Canada, I really have no business complaining. Though several local school systems closed to spare students having to stand at bus stops in the dark in less than five degrees, ours opened on time...and pipes burst in younger son's school auditorium sprinkler system, setting off the fire alarm and triggering the evacuation of the building, meaning the students were sent outside without their coats in way-below-freezing weather. I was a wimp and never set foot out of the house, since
I am pleased for FSU and less embarrassed now that they beat Maryland 63-0 in the teams' last ACC game before Maryland joins the Big 10 next year, but staying up last night for the game left me sleepy today. My in-laws visited briefly to pick up older son, who is staying with them for a couple of days in Pennsylvania where they are going to a farm festival and some sort of big buffet. Younger son caught up on Sherlock with us before going to study Chinese; I watched Agents of SHIELD, which is finally starting to go somewhere, and the season premiere of Downton Abbey - the fact that it took me this long to watch the latter should tell you how apathetic I've become. Snow at Mount Vernon last week: