By Li Po
Translated by: Arthur Waley
The fields are chill, the sparse rain has stopped;
The colours of Spring teem on every side.
With leaping fish the blue pond is full;
With singing thrushes the green boughs droop.
The flowers of the field have dabbled their powdered cheeks;
The mountain grasses are bent level at the waist.
By the bamboo stream the last fragment of cloud
Blown by the wind slowly scatters away.
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It was over 50 degrees on Wednesday and not dark yet at 6 p.m., and although winter is scheduled to return before the week ends, it was a nice break. I met Kay for lunch at Tara Thai so we could catch up on life, our kids, and everything, and afterward I walked around seagull-filled Washingtonian Lake, stopped in various stores for various necessities, bought a pair of the softest, snuggliest Vera Wang pyjamas for under $10, then came home and took a walk (saw one bunny, two deer, though for most of the week just after twilight, there has been a pair of bunnies in the same spot).
The 100 was really good this week -- there are a thousand issues with the plot both large and small, but there are women in charge of every interesting group and the only remotely likeable person among the most awful clan is a woman, and they aren't afraid to argue and stand up to each other, and Henry Ian Cusick has turned into eye candy which is fine by me. The Americans is always good and had one scene I simply stopped watching -- I can only take so much violence against women who are pretty much powerless. Here are some more animals from the Richmond Zoo last fall:
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