By Robert Frost
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right
I have been one acquainted with the night.
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I spent the morning at home with older son, who did not sleep quite as late as the day before (out of bed before noon!) but was still being a slacker in anticipation of getting up early on Saturday for the First Robotics Competition kickoff with other alumni from his high school robotics team. I wrote most of a review of Deep Space Nine's "Battle Lines", which was more complicated than I had anticipated since I recently watched several episodes that come later in the series and had to remember what we learned about Opaka when. Older son had a late lunch with my mother and younger son briefly brought his girlfriend over, then they both went to her house.
It was an unseasonably warm day, mid-50s and sunny, and when I walked in the woods in the late afternoon there were four deer despite several neighbors walking past me with dogs, small children, etc. Three of us had dinner with my parents -- the fourth was still at his girlfriend's -- then we came home to watch Nikita's return and the first two episodes of The Life of Mammals on PBS, which had a fabulous exploration of marsupials and showed hedgehog sex in David Attenborough's London backyard. Speaking of mammals, here are the National Zoo lions -- the adult male, Luke, currently lives alone since his sons are growing up, while the two moms are still teaching their offspring to behave even though some are now growing manes:
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