By Louise Glück
Even now this landscape is assembling.
The hills darken. The oxen
sleep in their blue yoke,
the fields having been
picked clean, the sheaves
bound evenly and piled at the roadside
among cinquefoil, as the toothed moon rises:
This is the barrenness
of harvest or pestilence.
And the wife leaning out the window
with her hand extended, as in payment,
and the seeds
distinct, gold, calling
Come here
Come here, little one
And the soul creeps out of the tree.
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Monday was not eventful except that our furnace is not working. This really wasn't a problem after 6 a.m. because it was a warm day, and Tuesday is supposed to be mid-70s, but it means furnace people coming to inspect it and money gone to fix it, sigh. My parents had a flood in their house, so they have the giant fans and missing pieces of ceiling that we had upstairs after the roof flood last year, which is a much bigger pain. Since it was gorgeous out, we walked and cleaned up leaves.
We saw some of the Bills-Chiefs game before dinner and a lot of the Cowboys-Cardinals game afterward -- I must admit that I enjoyed the latter, though I started to feel a bit badly for Dalton and have a new appreciation for Prescott since it looks like Dallas has not offensive line. We only watched one episode of Schitt's Creek, but it was the engagement picnic/Cabaret episode, so that was a delight. Here are some of the features of Locust Grove's pre-Halloween hike in the woods:
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