By Lizette Woodworth Reese
No wind, no bird. The river flames like brass.
On either side, smitten as with a spell
Of silence, brood the fields. In the deep grass,
Edging the dusty roads, lie as they fell
Handfuls of shriveled leaves from tree and bush.
But 'long the orchard fence and at the gate,
Thrusting their saffron torches through the hush,
Wild lilies blaze, and bees hum soon and late.
Rust-colored the tall straggling briar, not one
Rose left. The spider sets its loom up there
Close to the roots, and spins out in the sun
A silken web from twig to twig. The air
Is full of hot rank scents. Upon the hill
Drifts the noon's single cloud, white, glaring, still.
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Monday was hot and I had a lot of stuff to get done, so I have little that's exciting to report. I did get to have lunch with Adam and go out for ice cream with him, but he was mostly busy reading in anticipation of returning to school in a couple of days. Also, I talked to the woman who is fostering the kittens Heather rescued, and they are doing really well -- she thinks they will be adoptable in a week or so!
Paul made veggie meat loaf for Adam for dinner. Then, after rolling our eyes at the Bengals' first quarter and much discussion about what we were in the mood for, we watched the John Hurt-Elijah Wood movie The Oxford Murders, which was not particularly well-scripted (forget the math gobbledygook, the women's roles are atrocious) but is at least well-acted. Some more things we saw at the county fair:
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