By Andrew Lang
The winter is upon us, not the snow,
The hills are etched on the horizon bare,
The skies are iron grey, a bitter air,
The meagre cloudlets shudder to and fro.
One yellow leaf the listless wind doth blow,
Like some strange butterfly, unclassed and rare.
Your footsteps ring in frozen alleys, where
The black trees seem to shiver as you go.
Beyond lie church and steeple, with their old
And rusty vanes that rattle as they veer,
A sharper gust would shake them from their hold,
Yet up that path, in summer of the year,
And past that melancholy pile we strolled
To pluck wild strawberries, with merry cheer.
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I did work all morning Friday and I had plans to get a lot of progress made on holiday cards in the afternoon, but then Pokemon Go released a bunch of Generation 3 Pokemon and the new update with local weather, so I was, um, distracted and had to go to Cabin John Park to catch Poochenya, Roselia, Nuzleaf, Treecko, and the adorable Zigzagoon, plus a giant Hariyama and a whole bunch of Skittys. (Paul was very understanding about my need to stop on the way to dinner to get a Torchic.)
We had dinner at my parents' house and tried to make plans with them and son for over the weekend, but everything will depend on the weather, since we could get anywhere from half an inch to four inches of snow tomorrow morning and afternoon. We discovered we were a week behind on Blindspot, watched Agents of SHIELD (oh come on the dystopian gladiator thing is so overdone), and started Bones's eleventh season. Here are some photos from Longwood Gardens' holiday light display:
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