By Monica Ferrell
There is nothing beautiful here
However I may want it. I can't
Spin a crystal palace of this thin air,
Weave a darkness plush as molefur with my tongue
However I want. Yet I am not alone
In these alleys of vowels, which comfort me
As the single living nun of a convent
Is comforted by the walls of that catacomb
She walks at night, lit by her own moving candle.
I am not afraid of mirrors or the future
--Or even you, lovers, wandering cow-fat
And rutting in the gardens of this earthly verge
Where I too trod, a sunspot, parasol-shaded,
Kin to the trees, the bees, the color green.
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The highlight of my Monday was driving Adam, along with four of his teammates, to the Woodward Relays at Georgetown Prep, where Churchill's team finished very well and Adam and one of his friends won medals, so he came home in a great mood even though he pushed himself so hard he got sick (is that normal? He seems to get sick after all the races where he really does well). The other major local athletic event, the Redskins-Eagles game, was a miserable atrocity that we shall not discuss further.
Otherwise my day involved unexciting things like work, getting gas for the van while we had nearly a doller per gallon off from grocery store points, and finishing a Shutterfly photo book that has to be ordered in the next day for the "free book" coupon to work. I walked, saw some bunnies, dealt with some neighborhood stupidity, ate some dinner, and was relieved that the Orioles and Nationals at least did not embarrass the region this day (Os beat the Yankees, whoo!). South Mountain Creamery animals:
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