By Edna St. Vincent Millay
Do I not know what savage blossom only under the pitting hail
Of your inclement season could have prospered? Here lie
Green leaves to wade in. And of the many roads not one road leading outward from this place
But is blocked by boughs that will hiss and simmer when they burn–green autumn, lady, green autumn on this land!
Do I not know what inward pressure only could inflate its petals to withstand
(No, no, not hate, not hate) the onslaught of a little time with you?
(No, no, not love, not love) Call it by name,
Now that it’s over, now that it is gone and cannot hear us.
It was an honest thing. Not noble. Yet no shame.
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It wasn't quite as warm on Monday as it had been on Sunday, but it was still a really nice day, so I tried to get all my work done in the morning and went to the park after lunch. The whole hillside now has purple crocuses, there are still lots of snowdrops by the miniature train station, and the plum blossoms look like they're on the way.
I turned Rosie into Goose in a Photoshop meme and folded laundry during the UConn women's game, then we watched Black Lightning, which is wrapping up another great season, and The Enemy Within, which I feel like might be more interesting if we didn't already know who one of the traitors is though I like the actors. From Great Falls on Saturday:
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