By George Marion McClellan
All Nashville is a chill. And everywhere
Like desert sand, when the winds blow,
There is each moment sifted through the air,
A powdered blast of January snow.
O! thoughtless Dandelion, to be misled
By a few warm days to leave thy natural bed,
Was folly growth and blooming over soon.
And yet, thou blasted yellow-coated gem,
Full many a heart has but a common boon
With thee, now freezing on thy slender stem.
When the heart has bloomed by the touch of love's warm breath
Then left and chilling snow is sifted in,
It still may beat but there is blast and death
To all that blooming life that might have been.
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My stupid cold has now settled in my throat and given me laryngitis, but before that I spent a nice afternoon downtown with Paul and Cheryl. We went to the National Gallery of Art primarily to see the El Greco exhibit and movie and Degas' Little Dancer Aged Fourteen. Then we went to a fannish New Year party, where we saw a bunch of DC fans of many years' acquaintance, which was lovely!
We missed most of the football playoffs (I hear that Detroit was robbed), but we did see the first episode of Galavant, which was delightful in every way -- like Mel Brooks joined Monty Python -- and Downton Abbey, which I can't get all that excited about these days though I love listening to Carson complain. Will have to catch up on Madam Secretary. Must go rest my miserable throat!
The Impressionist collection there is still quite good and the visiting exhibits are great -- we go several times a year. I love living in a city where nearly all the museums are free!
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