By Robinson Jeffers
In scornful upright loneliness they stand,
Counting themselves no kin of anything
Whether of earth or sky. Their gnarled roots cling
Like wasted fingers of a clutching hand
In the grim rock. A silent spectral band
They watch the old sky, but hold no communing
With aught. Only, when some lone eagle's wing
Flaps past above their grey and desolate land,
Or when the wind pants up a rough-hewn glen,
Bending them down as with an age of thought,
Or when, 'mid flying clouds that can not dull
Her constant light, the moon shines silver, then
They find a soul, and their dim moan is wrought
Into a singing sad and beautiful.
Extreme quickie, as I have spent a very nice day with my entire family -- Paul worked from home so that at lunchtime he could pick up Adam (and lunch, from Grand Fusion) while I waited for Adam's new computer to be delivered by UPS, then we all went to the orthopedist to have his broken arm x-rayed. He won't get the pins out for another few weeks, but they put on a new cast that doesn't cover his elbow, which he is very happy about. The cats were glad to see him, as was his grandmother who stopped by.
Adam wanted to get back to College Park for a business school event at dinnertime, so we went straight there from the doctor, helped him carry the computer, clothes and food he was bringing to his dorm, took him to the business school, then went to meet Daniel, whom we took to IHOP for dinner. We came home to watch Legends and Hugh Jackman on The Tonight Show -- we watched the recap of Obama's press conference on the news, I was not in the mood for being depressed watching it live.