Poem for Wednesday and Mystic Seaport

The Ocean
By Nathaniel Hawthorne

The Ocean has its silent caves,
Deep, quiet, and alone;
Though there be fury on the waves,
Beneath them there is none.

The awful spirits of the deep
Hold their communion there;
And there are those for whom we weep,
The young, the bright, the fair.

Calmly the wearied seamen rest
Beneath their own blue sea.
The ocean solitudes are blest,
For there is purity.

The earth has guilt, the earth has care,
Unquiet are its graves;
But peaceful sleep is ever there,
Beneath the dark blue waves.

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I had ambitious plans for Tuesday that involved starting holiday cards, finishing laundries, and various other projects, but I ended up spending an insane amount of time deleting Giving Tuesday emails, rescheduling a doctor's appointment, and burying a dove that died on our deck, so a lot did not get finished. I was also distracted looking at the awful images from the fire at Mystic's marina, which thankfully spared the Mystic Seaport museum and ships, so some photos from our visit a few weeks ago:

 

With my Tuesday night group, I watched Voyager's not-good "Extreme Risk" -- third of three episodes in a row this season in which a major female character has a major mental health crisis with no meaningful support, surely someone on the writing staff could have called a mental health professional for minimal advice? Then we caught up on the two Masked Singer episodes we missed during Thanksgiving week, which were huge fun, great music this season, and I could actually guess from clues for a change.