Poem for Friday and December Canal

Here in the Time of the Winter Morn
By William Moore

Here in the time of the Winter morn, Love,
I see the Sunlit leaves of changing hue
Burn clear against a sky of tender blue,
Here in the time of the Winter morn, Love.
Here in the time of the Winter morn, Love,
I hear the low tone bells of changing song
Ring clear upon the air the full day long,
Here in the time of the Winter morn, Love.
I hear the bells, I see the changing leaves,
And one lone heart for Summer silent grieves,
Here in the time of the Winter morn, Love.

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I had my first OB-GYN appointment of the covid era on Thursday -- I'd made the appointment before Omicron, but it had been so long that I didn't want to postpone it any more -- so every part of me has been examined and prodded by doctors in the past couple of days, which is all good. I spent most of the rest of the afternoon scanning some of my father-in-law's papers (photos, articles about his churches, genealogy) which we're bringing back to him on Saturday. 

Paul made deep-dish pizza for dinner and we played Mini Rails, then I chatted briefly with my fannish friends while Daniel was in the shower. Before and after, we watched most of the rest of Lovecraft Country, including the scene that made me stop watching it for several months the first time -- still one of the most grotesque things I've ever seen -- and now we're watching the penultimate episode, this show's version of the Tulsa Massacre. The canal last month: