By William Blake
O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:
The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark
Deep-founded habitation. Shake not they roofs
Nor bend they pillars with thine iron car.
He hears me not, but o’er the yawning deep
Rides heavy; his storms are unchain’d, sheathed
In ribbed steel; I dare not life mine eyes;
For he hath rear’d his scepter o’er the world.
Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings
To his strong bones, strides o’er the groaning rocks:
He withers all in silence, and in his hand
Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.
He takes his seat upon the cliffs, the mariner
Cries in vain. Poor little wretch! that deal’st
With storms, till heaven smiles, and the monster
Is driven yelling to his caves beneath Mount Hecla.
I spent Tuesday catching up from an extended weekend, so I have not much that's exciting to report unless you are excited by laundry or cleaning up after kittens who like to shred rolls of toilet paper. It wasn't too cold out, but it looked like winter and the sun went down much too early for my preference. I saw Paul for lunch between his doctor and dentist appointments and when we walked in the evening we got to witness an entire lightsaber battle by neighborhood kids.
The Flash didn't go with Patty where I thought it might be going, which is all to the good, and although Agents of SHIELD went exactly where I thought it was going, though not quite the way I thought it would get there, it was still pretty enjoyable. We caught up on Supergirl too, but I was talking to friends about some sad news we got yesterday concerning another friend, so I wasn't concentrating. Snapshots from the Museum of Natural History, Winterthur, and Longwood yesterday: