Looking for a Sunset Bird in Winter
By Robert Frost
The west was getting out of gold,
The breath of air had died of cold,
When shoeing home across the white,
I thought I saw a bird alight.
In summer when I passed the place
I had to stop and lift my face;
A bird with an angelic gift
Was singing in it sweet and swift.
No bird was singing in it now.
A single leaf was on a bough,
And that was all there was to see
In going twice around the tree.
From my advantage on a hill
I judged that such a crystal chill
Was only adding frost to snow
As gilt to gold that wouldn’t show.
A brush had left a crooked stroke
Of what was either cloud or smoke
From north to south across the blue;
A piercing little star was through.
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My Wednesday was pretty quiet but nice. I spent a good chunk of the morning scraping chunks of ice off the deck in time for the next snowstorm we're supposed to get tomorrow morning, then had lunch and talked to my high friends on Google Meet. We took a walk in the late afternoon in practically balmy 45-degree weather and I finally caught up with my photos.
Cheryl and I watched Legends of Tomorrow and The Book of Boba Fett remotely together in our respective homes -- the first very funny, the second holding my interest but if it's not going to keep the titular character a quiet mystery, it really could use some humor or sweetness like The Mandalorian. Some more photos from Black Hill Regional Park:
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