Poem for Friday and Seneca Creek Lights

Alarm Clocks
By Joyce Kilmer

When Dawn strides out to wake a dewy farm
Across green fields and yellow hills of hay
The little twittering birds laugh in his way
And poise triumphant on his shining arm.
He bears a sword of flame but not to harm
The wakened life that feels his quickening sway
And barnyard voices shrilling "It is day!"
Take by his grace a new and alien charm.

But in the city, like a wounded thing
That limps to cover from the angry chase,
He steals down streets where sickly arc-lights sing,
And wanly mock his young and shameful face;
And tiny gongs with cruel fervor ring
In many a high and dreary sleeping place.

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We had a fairly quiet Thursday in this lovely warm December week. Various people here had busy work to do in the morning, so while we were doing it, we watched A Simple Favor, which came up in conversation recently and Adam said he hadn't seen (always a delight). Then everyone had afternoon calls, after which we took a walk and watched the leaves fall. 

We watched the two most recent episodes of The Wheel of Time, both of which were pretty good -- I don't like fantasy universes where magic works according to strict sex roles, but at least the women are strong and the relationships are interesting (and not all heterosexual), and the religious fanatics are suitably awful. Winter light displays at Seneca Creek: