By Claude McKay
Your voice is the color of a robin’s breast,
And there’s a sweet sob in it like rain—still rain in the night.
Among the leaves of the trumpet-tree, close to his nest,
The pea-dove sings, and each note thrills me with strange delight
Like the words, wet with music, that well from your trembling throat.
I’m afraid of your eyes, they’re so bold,
Searching me through, reading my thoughts, shining like gold.
But sometimes they are gentle and soft like the dew on the lips of the eucharis
Before the sun comes warm with his lover’s kiss,
You are sea-foam, pure with the star’s loveliness,
Not mortal, a flower, a fairy, too fair for the beauty-shorn earth,
All wonderful things, all beautiful things, gave of their wealth to your birth:
O I love you so much, not recking of passion, that I feel it is wrong,
But men will love you, flower, fairy, non-mortal spirit burdened with flesh,
Friday was a gorgeous, cool day, so although it looks like summer after the past few days of heat, it felt great to be outdoors! I spent all morning and a good chunk of the afternoon organizing trip photos -- I always forget how difficult Facebook makes dating, labeling, and putting photos in order, at least Shutterfly has improved upon that. Otherwise I did very important things like reading, making a couple of appointments, and getting my Pokemon account ready for Go Fest this weekend.
We had leftovers for dinner, then watched the new episode of The Essex Serpent, which I liked better than previous ones because it was mostly in London, not Aldwinter, and it had more politics of poverty, fewer female characters in distress, though I'll be really irritated if Evil Doctor Luke is right about where the ostensible main pairing is going and WHY is everyone in love with Cora? From Seattle's Washington Park Arboretum, some of the colored azaleas and rhododendrons in the collection: