By Dan Beachy-Quick
The wars are everywhere, o even within.
Drawn in poor bee by the dance loud hum
Of some other tribe, poor bee. Even the center, even the heart,
Keeps a sting sharp: art stings thought, thought stings art.
Petty realm of the long known. Are there other ways to learn to sing?
Clash of long dead blades in the fallow fields
And the wind that blows truce for an hour whistles loud the rash
Martial tune. Some scribe handles himself. "Use it," sings the song.
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On Tuesday I stopped at the library and at Michael's (50% off coupon good for three hours only), and took a walk and saw a bunny plus lots of azaleas! And that was most of the excitement, unless you count very helpful cats who got involved in all my chores. Our power flickered off and on for just long enough to turn off the computers and knock off all the clocks, some of which have not yet been reset.
It was a busy genre TV night: The Flash, which was okay (needs more women talking about things other than their crushes), Agents of SHIELD, which I really enjoyed (I know I should not hate That Character but she's so annoying that when she's evil I gloat), then Limitless (please, CBS, renew this show, it's well-scripted and funny and the women are awesome). Since spring is so lovely, Brookside Gardens tulips:
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