Winter Morning
By Richard Meier
Shyly coated in greys, blacks, browns -
to keep us out of sight of the cold -
we weren't expecting this this morning: sun
and shadows, like a summer's evening, like summer
teasing. And not quite under the shelter on
the northbound platform, an old man, the sun
behind him, just his crown ablaze; and heading
southbound, a woman inching ever nearer
the platform edge, the light a tear
across her midriff, ribcage, shoulders, closer
and closer that dearest thing, completeness,
all her darkness light at the one time.
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On Wednesday Right Restoration came over, took out everything remaining in the basement, and tore out the carpet that we've had for a couple of decades. I will not miss the carpet, which was in need of a very deep cleaning if not replacement anyway, but without a single bookcase remaining, it's hard to imagine restoring the books and collectibles we want to keep. Meanwhile younger son's room is packed to the ceiling with the boxes we didn't want to store outside in the pod just in case of insane weather. At least it was another lovely political news day.
We did manage to take a real walk, necessary for my sanity especially when it became obvious that we were going to have a spectacular sunset in gorgeous weather, and I scanned all the holiday cards in between bouts of dealing with basement stuff -- Purple Heart is coming again tomorrow and we had various things to sort for them. We had appropriate food for National Spaghetti Day and watched this week's National Treasure (still loads of silly fun) and Willow (lots of girl power). Some photos of the free winter light show at the LDS Temple:
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