Poem for Leigh Hunt
By Prageeta Sharma
I find ways to keep a sense of peace
but it is not always easy; for example,
I can’t keep my questions tempered.
What kind of sun expounds its rays
upon the hills but then mutes
like an ordinary bulb, small
Moreover, what moon filters
the blistering whiteness of
snow so that it can only be seen
by the fiscally immune, enamored by the dully-noted?
Let me amble with Keats
and his wandering expression
and try to figure out if the poem keeps
me encased in a rapture for which
my dim external life won’t account.
We had a quiet Sunday mostly doing chores with Daniel, who has a set of job interviews in Wisconsin next week and had to get his suit tailored and look for a new pair of Dockers to wear. (His brand new electric razor is not working, which means that has to be replaced ASAP too.) Since it was gorgeous out and he needs driving practice to get his license, we also went to Carderock near sunset and walked along the canal as the sky turned pink:
We had leftover Chinese food from my parents on Friday for dinner, then we drove Daniel back to College Park, stopping at Adam's dorm to drop off his new bank card and lots of leftover Halloween candy from us and my parents. We watched Once Upon a Time, which was kind of after-school-special-y, then Worricker: Turks & Caicos, which was awesome in pretty much every way and we hadn't even seen the prequel -- this week. And the Ravens won!