By W.B. Yeats
Suddenly I saw the cold and rook-delighting Heaven
That seemed as though ice burned and was but the more ice,
And thereupon imagination and heart were driven
So wild that every casual thought of that and this
Vanished, and left but memories, that should be out of season
With the hot blood of youth, of love crossed long ago;
And I took all the blame out of all sense and reason,
Until I cried and trembled and rocked to and fro,
Riddled with light. Ah! when the ghost begins to quicken,
Confusion of the death-bed over, is it sent
Out naked on the roads, as the books say, and stricken
By the injustice of the skies for punishment?
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My whole day was about watching skating while half-paying attention to what I was doing on the computer, then schlepping Adam around, so I have nothing to report besides admiration for all the top women skaters -- all the programs in the final two groups were really enjoyable -- plus two bunnies in the snow and two cats trying to get in my lap at once whenever I was on the couch.
Since Paul could not work from home and didn't see the ladies' long program while it was airing live (with Lipinski and Weir's vastly better commentary than Hamilton and Wilson's), we watched the skating again in the evening, plus the skiing and the highlights of Team USA women's hockey blowing what had looked like a commanding lead. The last of my Winterthur Yuletide pics:
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