By Emily Dickinson
How happy is the little stone
That rambles in the road alone,
And doesn't care about careers,
And exigencies never fears;
Whose coat of elemental brown
A passing universe put on;
And independent as the sun,
Associates or glows alone,
Fulfilling absolute decree
In casual simplicity.
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Monday was a beautiful, cool day out here in the suburbs, where the protests feel both very immediate and very remote. A lot of DC-area public transportation has been cut back because of the coronavirus and more was shut down as part of the curfews aimed to curb violence, though some of the biggest violence today was tear gas used by police and Secret Service against protestors at a DC church Trump wanted to use as a prop in a speech. Even the bishop was outraged. I feel like smashing things and I'm not one of the people being systematically victimized, so seeing peaceful protestors threatened has me shaking with rage and I feel like sending some money here and there to organizations that help is not enough. I walked around my beautiful, diverse neighborhood today in the gorgeous weather and it just made me sad and frustrated.
I was cranky anyway because I had to go into a lab for blood tests for a doctor's appointment that will be online, and doubly cranky because they told me repeatedly that I wouldn't be waiting in a crowded waiting room, I'd be taken right to an exam room...what they didn't mention was that they keep the waiting room clear by making patients wait in the crowded public lobby with other patients and people walking through to elevators, so much more unsafe than a waiting room. Because the Zoom chat with the Lord of the Rings cast made us nostalgic yesterday, we spent the evening watching the extended version of The Fellowship of the Ring, which was a good way to relax and clear my head before the stressful late news. Here are some flowers and scenery from Butchart Gardens, which I visited in Victoria, BC with my parents in 1986:
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