By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Turn, turn, my wheel! Turn round and round
Without a pause, without a sound:
So spins the flying world away!
This clay, well mixed with marl and sand,
Follows the motion of my hand;
For some must follow, and some command,
Though all are made of clay!
Turn, turn, my wheel! All things must change
To something new, to something strange;
Nothing that is can pause or stay;
The moon will wax, the moon will wane,
The mist and cloud will turn to rain,
The rain to mist and cloud again,
To-morrow be to-day.
Turn, turn, my wheel! All life is brief;
What now is bud will soon be leaf,
What now is leaf will soon decay;
The wind blows east, the wind blows west;
The blue eggs in the robin’s nest
Will soon have wings and beak and breast,
And flutter and fly away.
Turn, turn, my wheel! What is begun
At daybreak must at dark be done,
To-morrow will be another day;
To-morrow the hot furnace flame
Will search the heart and try the frame,
And stamp with honor or with shame
These vessels made of clay.
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We spent the bulk of Sunday visiting Paul's parents in Hanover after dropping Maddy off early for a long work day at the mall. It was a low-key visit; we had sandwiches for lunch and spent most of our time Skyping with relatives and going over email (with a brief trip to get AAA batteries for their computer mouse). They're feeling well, though Clair is frustrated at the slow speed of speech therapy and would like to get out more.
I didn't have the stomach to watch the debate, so instead we watched cable TV this evening: the second episode of Westworld, which makes me squeamish but is still very well acted and written, and wherever we are in this season's Masters of Sex, which has been awesome. From the Countryside Artisans tour, glass at Art of Fire, animals at Something Earthy, and a sheep at Dancing Leaf:
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