By Helen Hay Whitney
Earth holds no sweeter secret anywhere
Than this my brook, that lisps along the green
Of mossy channels, where slim birch trees lean
Like tall pale ladies, whose delicious hair,
Lures and invites the kiss of wanton air.
The smooth soft grasses, delicate between
The rougher stalks, by waifs alone are seen,
Shy things that live in sweet seclusion there.
And is it still the same, and do the eyes
Of every silver ripple meet the trees
That bend above like guarding emerald skies?
I turn, who read the city’s beggared book,
And hear across the moan of many seas
The whisper and the laughter of my brook.
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We celebrated my father's birthday belatedly on Saturday by picking my parents up and going to the Udvar-Hazy Center of the Smithsonian's Air and Space Museum, where we originally planned to see a space documentary in the IMAX theater but they had taken it off the schedule for more showings of San Andreas and Tomorrowland. Which was fine -- instead we went to visit the space shuttle Discovery, the Blackbird, Enola Gay, Amelia Earhart's aviation suit, and various planes and helicopters. Then we went out for ice cream!
We all went out to dinner at Ted's 355 diner (I had eggs with feta and the biggest side of mashed potatoes in history), then we brought our kids home so younger son could work on calculus problems in anticipation of the summer class he starts on Monday and I could work on thrilling things like laundry and uploading trip photos. We watched the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction broadcast on HBO so we could see McCartney and Starr singing together, though I was very happy to see Joan Jett and surprisingly impressed with Miley Cyrus's introduction!
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