By Charles Reznikoff
It had been long dark, though still an hour before supper-time.
The boy stood at the window behind the curtain.
The street under the black sky was bluish white with snow.
Across the street, where the lot sloped to the pavement,
boys and girls were going down on sleds.
The boys were after him because he was a Jew.
At last his father and mother slept. He got up and dressed.
In the hall he took out his sled and went out on tiptoe.
No one was in the street. The slide was worn smooth and slippery--just right.
He laid himself down on his sled and shot away. He went down only twice.
He stood knee-deep in snow:
no one was in the street, the windows were darkened;
those near the street-lamps were ashine, but the rooms inside were dark;
on the street were long shadows of clods of snow.
He took his sled and went back into the house.
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Monday was Paul's birthday, so I got to have both lunch and dinner out with him -- lunch at Minerva in Gaithersburg, where I had lots of paneer, tandoori eggs, dal, naan, and various side dishes plus gulab jamun, then dinner at my parents, where at Adam's request we had pasta because he's running at a track meet tomorrow and needed carbs. My mother got a birthday cake for dessert, so I ate what must be described as an insane amount.
Otherwise, my day involved some work, some laundry, and some necessary shopping (I have another freaking eyelid infection and really do not want to go to the eye doctor, but it's hard to find warm compresses that will stay over an eye without lying flat on my back). Plus there is a new X-Men: Days of Future Past trailer and we got a new Dallas! Here are a few photos from Brookside's conservatory last month, since we need flowers in case of snow on Tuesday:
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