By Edith Matilda Thomas
I know it must be winter (though I sleep)--
I know it must be winter, for I dream
I dip my bare feet in the running stream,
And flowers are many, and the grass grows deep.
I know I must be old (how age deceives!)
I know I must be old, for, all unseen,
My heart grows young, as autumn fields grow green
When late rains patter on the falling sheaves.
I know I must be tired (and tired souls err)--
I know I must be tired, for all my soul
To deeds of daring beats a glad, faint roll,
As storms the riven pine to music stir.
I know I must be dying (Death draws near)--
I know I must be dying, for I crave
Life--life, strong life, and think not of the grave,
And turf-bound silence, in the frosty year.
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My Thursday did not have many exciting moments -- another day of chores (roof has been re-tarped, car is at dealer for scheduled service), struggling with trip photos to make books, turning on the TV, becoming enraged, turning off the TV, reading bloggers to make me feel better about the rage, meeting friends for a Pokemon raid at Starbucks and lunch at Cava in the mall afterward. I thought about going downtown to the demonstration but by the time I knew where anyone was going, I would have been late to meet them.
My sinuses were sufficiently improved that I took a walk, and we had tacos for dinner because someone decided it was National Taco Day. I didn't care enough about any of the sports on TV to watch them, so I put on the Doctor Who marathon until the bad Amy-and-Rory episodes drove me to turn on Lady Gaga interviews instead. Treasures from Biltmore, including George Vanderbilt's bedroom, library, man cave, Tiffany and Co. coffeepot from Theodore Roosevelt's sister, and the chess set Napoleon used in exile:
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