By Sylvia Plath
But I would rather be horizontal.
I am not a tree with my root in the soil
Sucking up minerals and motherly love
So that each March I may gleam into leaf,
Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed
Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted,
Unknowing I must soon unpetal.
Compared with me, a tree is immortal
And a flower-head not tall, but more startling,
And I want the one's longevity and the other's daring.
Tonight, in the infinitesimal light of the stars,
The trees and the flowers have been strewing their cool odors.
I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.
Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping
I must most perfectly resemble them --
Thoughts gone dim.
It is more natural to me, lying down.
Then the sky and I are in open conversation,
And I shall be useful when I lie down finally:
Then the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me.
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My Tuesday was about work and chores, with breaks for azaleas and bunnies (we found another baby bunny lurking in a different bush in our neighborhood)! Last week was crazy, but the rest of May looks to be nearly as much so. We had meatless tacos for dinner because even if Cinco de Mayo is primarily an appropriated excuse for a big drinking festival, I get in the mood for Mexican food after all the mentions of it.
I liked The Flash, which I think almost passed the Bechdel test this week, and I'll give Agents of SHIELD a pass because it actually did pass, even though the Super Special Snowflakeness of Skye was the focus of the story. Forever's season ended on a very nice note, a perfect jumping-off point for fan fiction because it's probably the last-ever episode. Some photos from Brighton Dam's azalea garden on Sunday:
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