Wednesday, September 14, 2016

Poem for Wednesday, Florence Foster Jenkins, South Mountain Creamery

Toad Dreams
By Marge Piercy

That afternoon the dream of the toads rang through the elms by Little River and affected the thoughts of men, though they were not conscious that they heard it. --Henry Thoreau

The dream of toads: we rarely
credit what we consider lesser
life with emotions big as ours,
but we are easily distracted,
abstracted. People sit nibbling
before television's flicker watching
ghosts chase balls and each other
while the skunk is out risking grisly
death to cross the highway to mate;
while the fox scales the wire fence
where it knows the shotgun lurks
to taste the sweet blood of a hen.
Birds are greedy little bombs
bursting to give voice to appetite.
I had a cat who died of love.
Dogs trail their masters across con-
tinents. We are far too busy
to be starkly simple in passion.
We will never dream the intense
wet spring lust of the toads.


I had a very social Tuesday, though when I woke up I thought my whole day might just be work and chores! Alice had an appointment in Bethesda and got out early enough to come have brunch with Maddy and me, so we went to Starbucks and hung out for a little while. Then I took Maddy to the mall to shop at Bath & Body Works, where we both bought fall scented stuff, and Forever 21, where she bought clothes and I snuck across the hall to look at Hallmark Halloween decorations.

Angela came over for an early dinner (tacos and chips with Maddy), then Angela, Paul, and I went to see Florence Foster Jenkins, which was very enjoyable. The script is a bit predictable even though I knew nothing about the titular subject, but Streep and Grant are great together, and it's beautifully filmed, especially the costumes. I hadn't seen Angela  in a month so it was really great to catch up! Here are some of the cows and chicks at South Mountain Creamery last weekend:

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