By Noelle Kocot
Saturn seems habitual,
The way it rages in the sky
When we’re not looking.
On this note, the trees still sing
To me, and I long for this
Mottled world. Patterns
Of the lamplight on this leather,
The sun, listening.
My brother, my sister,
I was born to tell you certain
Things, even if no one
Really listens. Give it back
To me, as the bird takes up
The whole sky, ruined with
Nightfall. If I can remember
The words in the storm,
I will be well enough to sit
Here with you a little while.
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Had no vehicle, spent pretty much all day in the house, got bunches of chores done including rearranging stuff in my bedroom all morning after some culprit (I cannot identify which one) knocked down a massive previously-well-balanced stack of Barbie dolls and jewelry, sorted laundry, took a couple of walks because it was gorgeous out, and spent the entire rest of the day trying to finish a Shutterfly book of Seattle photos before our remaining coupon expired at midnight.
At first I thought my computer was slow, but not even Paul's much newer computer could make it work. Life lesson I should have learned from the last time: do not count on Shutterfly working on a day there's a big coupon expiring. Otherwise, not an eventful day, only got out to pick the van up in the evening! Adam, who watched the last episode of Genius with us, gave us an adorable (he says tacky) snow globe from Greece plus some herbs that made it through the airport:
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