By Emily Dickinson
The bee is not afraid of me,
I know the butterfly;
The pretty people in the woods
Receive me cordially.
The brooks laugh louder when I come,
The breezes madder play.
Wherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists?
Wherefore, O summer’s day?
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I'm a day late for Emily's birthday, sorry. My Wednesday was very nice in that I got taken out to lunch for my birthday a day early by Kay, who brought me caramels, hot chocolate, and hand cream! It was chilly and windy but quite nice out, so I walked around the lake at Washingtonian to see the seagulls, then stopped in Kohl's looking for a simple black shirt to wear under a cardigan where I ended up finding another cardigan, a purple one (I was very tempted by the Elsa-from-Frozen leggings but I reminded myself that I needed clothes I could wear visiting my kids). Here is a dog with cherry blossoms:
Maybe for my birthday LiveJournal will fix Scrapbook so I can post more photos. We had a fairly evening after dinner -- watched Arrow to see if John Barrowman made up for our creeping apathy (not really but I still like it loads better than Gotham), watched The 100 to see whether it made any big changes for the mid-season (not yet clear), watched Nashville to see which couples would still be together in February (predictable except for one thing, not nearly enough music). The news just keeps getting better, by which I mean now I have to sit through Stewart and Colbert covering coverage of torture...in other words, not!
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