By Hart Crane
The apple on its bough is her desire,—
Shining suspension, mimic of the sun.
The bough has caught her breath up, and her voice,
Dumbly articulate in the slant and rise
Of branch on branch above her, blurs her eyes.
She is prisoner of the tree and its green fingers.
And so she comes to dream herself the tree,
The wind possessing her, weaving her young veins,
Holding her to the sky and its quick blue,
Drowning the fever of her hands in sunlight.
She has no memory, nor fear, nor hope
Beyond the grass and shadows at her feet.
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Friday was yet another glorious spring day in the DC area. We did our work early so we could go to Brookside Gardens before stopping off to get kitty litter. The tulips are in all their glory, and there are frogs and turtles all around the ponds, plus pairs of Canada geese and cardinals. After visiting, we did our shopping at Petco and Michaels, then went to my parents' for dinner.
I've been on the phone all evening with relatives and we're getting up early to go to Pennsylvania to see Paul's father, coming home in the evening, then going up again Sunday after picking up Adam in College Park. Here is my review of Voyager's "Warlord" (if you don't remember it, don't bother to rewatch unless you really love Jennifer Lien).
We were going to watch the season finale of Sleepy Hollow but then I read a huge spoiler (in a news article, not a TV review column) and I shall be skipping the rest of that show forever. Instead we watched the season finale of Billions, which continues to have fairly detestable characters overall, but had some interesting not-entirely-predictable relationship stuff.
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