On Arranging a Bowl of Violets
By Grace Hazard Conkling
I dip my hands in April among your faces tender,
O woven of blue air and ecstasies of light!
Breathed words of the Earth-Mother, although it is November,
You wing my soul with memories adorable and white.
I hear you call each other:
"Ah, Sweet, do you remember
The garden that we haunted--its spaces of delight?
The sound of running water--the day's long lapse of splendor,
The winds that begged our fragrance and loved us in the night?"
We spent Wednesday recovering from graduation. Adam slept late, went running with a friend, then played tennis with my father, who was celebrating his birthday. I did a bunch of work, washed a bunch of clothes, answered a bunch of mail and exciting things like that. Paul worked from home after dropping off the van to have its side mirror repaired, and we all went out for a late lunch -- Indian food at Minerva.
In the afternoon I did a bunch more chores, went for a walk looking for bunnies, and worked on some jewelry projects. We went over to my parents' to have birthday cake with my father, then we came home and watched The Big Lebowski, which Adam had watched half of recently and wanted to see the rest. And Daniel got his grades --straight As! Here are the geese at Lake Whetstone earlier this month: