By Emily Dickinson
I’ll tell you how the sun rose, —
A ribbon at a time.
The steeples swam in amethyst,
The news like squirrels ran.
The hills untied their bonnets,
The bobolinks begun.
Then I said softly to myself,
“That must have been the sun!”
But how he set, I know not.
There seemed a purple stile
Which little yellow boys and girls
Were climbing all the while
Till when they reached the other side,
A dominie in gray
Put gently up the evening bars,
And led the flock away.
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My morning was boring work and chores, then I took a break to walk in the park and do a raid at the mall, where I stopped in Sears to look at their long sleeve t-shirts and ended up getting two shirts and two pairs of leggings for $5.33 after coupons so that was a nice surprise.
In the evening, Rose came over to visit the cats and she and I caught up on local news, then we watched Designated Survivor, which was okay but seems so tame compared to the insanity actually on the news. From Brookside Gardens, chrysanthemums, geese, and a wedding:
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