By Djuna Barnes
The night comes down, in ever-darkening shapes that seem--
To grope, with eerie fingers for the window--then--
To rest to sleep, enfolding me, as in a dream
Faith--might I awaken!
And drips the rain with seeming sad, insistent beat.
Shivering across the pane, drooping tear-wise,
And softly patters by, like little fearing feet.
The feathery ash is fluttered; there upon the pane,--
The dying fire casts a flickering ghostly beam,--
Then closes in the night and gently falling rain.
My Tuesday was not nearly as entertaining as my Monday -- Paul worked from home so I got to have lunch with him, and Adam was actually home for dinner for a change. But it was hot and sticky (we never got the rain that pounded College Park and closed the roads near where Daniel works -- several feet over Paint Branch Parkway, he posted a pic). I had lots of chores to do, and the laundry is still not folded because I spent so much time attacking various parts of the kitchen to remove gunk.
I saw all four baby bunnies, so that was nice. I realize that Eric Cantor's Tea Party opponent probably has even more heinous positions than Cantor himself, but if losing his primary derails Cantor's presidential ambitions, so much the better. And after dinner we all watched The Grand Budapest Hotel on demand -- Adam had seen it in the theater and told us we really needed to do so as well, and it's really superbly done, lots of great actors and wonderful visuals. Broad-headed skinks at Great Falls last month: