Poem for Friday and Homestead Animals

Seed-Time
By James B. Kenyon

The fields lie swathed in misty blue;
    Dim vapors crown the wooded height;
From every trembling spray the dew
    Shoots back the morning's quivering light.
In hollows where the tender fern
Uncurls beside the glimmering burn,
The cool gray shadows linger yet,
To kiss the pale young violet.
Hark! singing through the orchard close,
    And whistling o'er the furrowed plain,
The lusty sower blithely goes
    To drop the golden grain.

Clear morning sounds are in the air;
    The birds their jocund matins swell;
Each stream makes music fine and rare;
    Each fountain rings its crystal bell.
Sweet from the blooming apple-trees,
Come elfin quirings of the bees,
And from far uplands, faintly borne,
Float mellow greetings to the morn.
O tuneful world! each wind that blows
    Brings from the field a glad refrain,
Where, singing still, the sower goes
    And drops his golden grain.

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We had rain a lot of Thursday, but I had a nice day anyway, though a lot of it was chores -- we have Vietnam Vets coming to pick up a bunch of donated stuff on Friday and it needed to be sorted and boxed. I went to lunch at Cava with my neighbor Cybel (Adam's best friend's mom) for the first time since the pandemic, so that was lovely. Then I watched some baseball with Paul while we worked on our computers, and we took a walk between rainstorms. 

After dinner, and before my usual Thursday night call, we watched the season finale of She-Hulk, one of the most enjoyable half-hours of television in I don't know how long -- hilarious, fourth wall-smashing, brilliant meta with fantastic guest appearances and doors open both for another season and for two other Marvel franchises. Then we watched the end of the very meh Commanders-Bears game. From Homestead Farm last weekend, some of the animals we visited: