By Amy Lowell
The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is a smell of tulips and narcissus in the air.
The sunshine pours in at the bath-room window and bores through the water in the bath-tub in lathes and planes of greenish-white. It cleaves the water into flaws like a jewel, and cracks it to bright light.
Little spots of sunshine lie on the surface of the water and dance, dance, and their reflections wobble deliciously over the ceiling; a stir of my finger sets them whirring, reeling. I move a foot and the planes of light in the water jar. I lie back and laugh, and let the green-white water, the sun-flawed beryl water, flow over me. The day is almost too bright to bear, the green water covers me from the too bright day. I will lie here awhile and play with the water and the sun spots. The sky is blue and high. A crow flaps by the window, and there is a whiff of tulips and narcissus in the air.
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It was nearly 70 degrees here on Thursday! Which is a really lovely break in February! I needed to stop in Target so I went to the one in Gaithersburg so I could walk around the lake (there were lots of happy geese and ducks, including hooded mergansers, which are rare there). We had a few minutes of rain and a hint of a rainbow, then nice warm winds all afternoon into evening!
We're watching the men's skating short program, which has been somewhat uneven in terms of the skating and coverage, but it's much happier than the news and the bullshit of prayers instead of gun legislation. I am also cranky because a year ago today, Paul and I were here at Marseille's Musée des Docks Romains, and I really want to go back and do that whole trip again!
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