By Patrick Kavanagh
I do not think of you lying in the wet clay
Of a Monaghan graveyard; I see
You walking down a lane among the poplars
On your way to the station, or happily
Going to second Mass on a summer Sunday –
You meet me and you say:
‘Don’t forget to see about the cattle – ‘
Among your earthiest words the angels stray.
And I think of you walking along a headland
Of green oats in June,
So full of repose, so rich with life –
And I see us meeting at the end of a town.
On a fair day by accident, after
The bargains are all made and we can walk
Together through the shops and stalls and markets
Free in the oriental streets of thought.
O you are not lying in the wet clay,
For it is a harvest evening now and we
Are piling up the ricks against the moonlight
And you smile up at us – eternally.
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Paul had to go into the office on Tuesday because they're moving the cubicles around, something that's become fairly uncommon now that most of his division is overseas so nearly everyone works from home. So I had the house to myself and could listen to last night's Broadway concert for Hillary Clinton while I worked. Maddy went to school to try to fix her schedule. I had dinner-and-a-movie plans with Angela, but she had an emergency so that got cut short.
Tuesday was the anniversary of Molly's death and Maddy wanted to get a tattoo in honor of her, so after school she went to Kensington and got a triquetra inked above her wrist. She leaves for L.A. very early Wednesday. We had honey mustard chicken for dinner and took her to CVS for travel essentials around watching The Flash and Agents of SHIELD, which I'm quite enjoying this season because of Draco Malfoy and Ghost Rider respectively. Maryland Renaissance falconry:
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