By William Stafford
Fog in the morning here
will make some of the world far away
and the near only a hint. But rain
will feel its blind progress along the valley,
tapping to convert one boulder at a time
into a glistening fact. Daylight will love what came.
Whatever fits will be welcome, whatever
steps back in the fog will disappear
and hardly exist. You hear the river
saying a prayer for all that’s gone.
Far over the valley there is an island
for everything left; and our own island
will drift there too, unless we hold on,
unless we tap like this: “Friend,
are you there? Will you touch when
you pass, like the rain?”
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It was raining Monday morning, but stopped before noon and turned into a not-too-cold, somewhat windy day. I mostly did unexciting work things, though I got out for Giratina and Shinx raids and I finally, finally got my gold gym battle badge (I don't really like fighting or throwing people out of gyms). I ran into a neighbor with whom I had a long conversation, and I got 1/3 of a laundry done, and had cold cats plant themselves in my lap.
We caught up on Sunday night's Doctor Who, which I enjoyed a lot ("I call people 'Dude' now" is a very Eleven line though she said it the way I think Ten would have, and I loved seeing a Trump surrogate repeatedly put in his place by more competent women, though the weekly story didn't really feel like it got wrapped up). And I loved the Wicked special! Here are some of Homestead Farm's animals and fruit from our visit on Sunday:
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