By John Keats
This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calmed--see here it is--
I hold it towards you.
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Friday was one of those gorgeous spring days, nearly 70 degrees, sunny, dogwoods starting to flower. I had to spend part of it writing a review of Deep Space Nine's "The Sword of Kahless", which required being indoors, but I actually got to read out on my new deck and attempt to type on my Kindle Fire -- next project, rigging an extension cord so I can use the laptop out there for long enough to get things done!
The Orioles had a good day, though the Nationals did not (15-0, oops). We had dinner with my parents, got home in time for most of Nikita, then caught up on this week's Nashville which we skipped when it aired to watch The Americans -- I really like both shows so I would really like one of them to switch time slots. Here are some photos of overcast downtown Rochester from last week:
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