By Sara Coleridge
January brings the snow,
Makes our feet and fingers glow.
February brings the rain,
Thaws the frozen lake again.
March brings breezes, loud and shrill,
To stir the dancing daffodil.
April brings the primrose sweet,
Scatters daisies at our feet.
May brings flocks of pretty lambs
Skipping by their fleecy dams.
June brings tulips, lilies, roses,
Fills the children's hands with posies.
Hot July brings cooling showers,
Apricots, and gillyflowers.
August brings the sheaves of corn,
Then the harvest home is borne.
Warm September brings the fruit;
Sportsmen then begin to shoot.
Fresh October brings the pheasant;
Then to gather nuts is pleasant.
Dull November brings the blast;
Then the leaves are whirling fast.
Chill December brings the sleet,
Blazing fire, and Christmas treat.
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I slept more of Friday than I was awake -- absolutely no energy, though I coughed less during the day than all the previous night. My throat hurts less but aches more from the coughing, if that makes any sense; my chest hurts but I think that's from coughing. WebMD says this has gone on too long to be a cold but probably not long enough to be RSV, and if it's not significantly better by tomorrow night, I'll see if I can get a test to find out (I took one more covid test, still negative).
We had college football on all day, but except for the woeful Notre Dame-Indiana game, I couldn't tell you what happened in them. I had noodle soup and peanut butter toast for dinner because that's about all I can handle, and we watched this week's episodes of Silo and The Agency, which hopefully I'll remember next week because my brain is definitely not firing on all thrusters. Oh, and we watched the Christmas Ghosts. Some of the holiday lights at Evergreen Gardens' Wintertide:
