By Rabindranath Tagore
Mother, the folk who live up in the clouds call out to me --
"We play from the time we wake till the day ends.
We play with the golden dawn, we play with the silver moon."
I ask, "But how am I to get up to you?"
They answer, "Come to the edge of the earth, lift up your
hands to the sky, and you will be taken up into the clouds."
"My mother is waiting for me at home, "I say, "How can I leave
her and come?"
Then they smile and float away.
But I know a nicer game than that, mother.
I shall be the cloud and you the moon.
I shall cover you with both my hands, and our house-top will
be the blue sky.
The folk who live in the waves call out to me --
"We sing from morning till night; on and on we travel and know
not where we pass."
I ask, "But how am I to join you?"
They tell me, "Come to the edge of the shore and stand with
your eyes tight shut, and you will be carried out upon the waves."
I say, "My mother always wants me at home in the everything --
how can I leave her and go?"
They smile, dance and pass by.
But I know a better game than that.
I will be the waves and you will be a strange shore.
I shall roll on and on and on, and break upon your lap with
laughter.
And no one in the world will know where we both are.
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It rained all day Tuesday. I did chores, picked up Adam so he didn't have to bike home with a cold in the rain, and worked on a bunch of research/writing that was really fun, but I have nothing else to report from my own day. Instead I enjoyed the same things half the internet did: articles about Delaware voting to legalize same-sex marriage and Leonard Nimoy and Zachary Quinto advertising Audi and singing the Bilbo Baggins song. We had some kind of awesome fake chicken and brussels sprouts with mustard sauce by Paul for dinner, then ice cream with Mystery Sauce since I'm not supposed to know what Adam was making for me for Mother's Day that produced extra chocolate.
Then we watched Moulin Rouge! to prepare ourselves for Luhrmann's Great Gatsby, which I expect to be utter crack, but it's not like Jack Clayton's film doesn't have huge flaws (Redford's too restrained, though he's more my mental Gatsby than DiCaprio, but I can't imagine anyone being more on the nose as Daisy than Mia Farrow). Moulin Rouge! is still utter crack too, perhaps even more so now that I've seen Australia so recently, but I'm less hostile toward Kidman since she divorced Cruise and Scientology, and I adore the staging of the musical numbers though I don't feel much emotion from the excess. But speaking of color and light, here are some photos of the Brighton Dam Azalea Garden:
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