By Emily Dickinson
A narrow Fellow in the Grass
Occasionally rides -
You may have met him? Did you not
His notice instant is -
The Grass divides as with a Comb,
A spotted Shaft is seen,
And then it closes at your Feet
And opens further on -
He likes a Boggy Acre -
A Floor too cool for Corn -
But when a Boy and Barefoot
I more than once at Noon
Have passed I thought a Whip Lash
Unbraiding in the Sun
When stooping to secure it
It wrinkled And was gone -
Several of Nature’s People
I know, and they know me
I feel for them a transport
Of Cordiality
But never met this Fellow
Attended or alone
Without a tighter Breathing
And Zero at the Bone.
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My Thursday involved a lot of cough syrup, a lot of coughing, a few chores and not a lot else -- drove Maddy to work, stopped at CVS looking for miracle cures, visited with my neighbor Rose who is house- and cat-sitting again for us this weekend and wanted to give Cinnamon some snuggles.
We watched The Orville (not its best -- too many casualties casually accepted for my preference, no old Trek-esque speeches) around the beginning and end of the Nationals-Cubs game which was stressful that it's just as well! From the Maryland Renaissance Festival's Reptile World:
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