By Rita Dove
Snow would be the easy
way out—that softening
sky like a sigh of relief
at finally being allowed
to yield. No dice.
We stack twigs for burning
in glistening patches
but the rain won’t give.
So we wait, breeding
mood, making music
of decline. We sit down
in the smell of the past
and rise in a light
that is already leaving.
We ache in secret,
memorizing
a gloomy line
or two of German.
When spring comes
we promise to act
the fool. Pour,
rain! Sail, wind,
with your cargo of zithers!
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There was literally not a cloud in the sky on Saturday, making it a perfect day to go downtown with Alice, Jeremy, and Avery, though niece wasn't feeling well and didn't even make it to work. We walked around the Tidal Basin, which I've usually only done in the spring to see the cherry blossoms, but those trees are pretty changing colors in the fall as well and we saw the MLK, FDR, and Jefferson Memorials plus the start of the Million Mask March by the Anonymous collective for Guy Fawkes Day, plus got food truck food!
We needed to stop at the food store on the way home, so mercifully we missed nearly all of the Maryland-Michigan game, about which we will never speak again. In honor of Guy Fawkes Day, we did not march but did have (vegetarian) bangers and mash for dinner, then we watched Gambit, which didn't do so well in the U.S. because of Cameron Diaz playing bad American stereotypes but has both Colin Firth and Alan Rickman, thus making it spectacularly British. And now we have Benedict Cumberbatch on SNL.
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