The Harbor
By Carl Sandburg
Passing through huddled and ugly walls,
By doorways where women haggard
Looked from their hunger-deep eyes,
Haunted with shadows of hunger-hands,
Out from the huddled and ugly walls,
I came sudden, at the city's edge,
On a blue burst of lake,
Long lake waves breaking under the sun
On a spray-flung curve of shore;
And a fluttering storm of gulls,
Masses of great gray wings
And flying white bellies
Veering and wheeling free in the open.
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I spent Monday morning emptying the last box of books we brought from storage and hanging art on the remaining walls -- we have two boxes of things we just don't have room to put up -- plus doing some organizing in the second bedroom closet. Then we went out to Goodwill (we no longer need a down comforter, we haven't used it since Chicago), Wild Birds Unlimited (we did need a bigger bracket for our bird feeder), and Trader Joe's (we needed more hummus and tyrokafteri).
When we got back, I set up the bird feeder and met some local red-winged blackbirds up close, then we took a walk to the beach -- nearly empty of people in the afternoon drizzle, though lots of geese were around -- and out on the dock to see the ducklings. We picked up vegan pizza at Trader Joe's, which we ate for dinner, and now we're trying to watch all of The World According to Jeff Goldblum before Disney deletes it in four days. Gorgeous Gig Harbor on Saturday:
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