By Pablo Neruda
Translated by Ken Krabbenhoft
Under the trees light
has dropped from the top of the sky,
light
like a green
latticework of branches,
shining
on every leaf,
drifting down like clean
white sand.
A cicada sends
its sawing song
high into the empty air.
The world is
a glass overflowing
with water.
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Because we can't take the van to Toyota to find out what's going on with it until tomorrow, my Monday was pretty unexciting -- multiple laundries, unpacking, figuring out where to put new Renfaire jewelry -- then a drive to downtown Redmond for my annual mammogram, to Kohl's to return a couple of Amazon items, to Target in an unsuccessful quest for a full length mirror, and to Safeway because (don't call the SPCA) we were almost out of cat treats.
Otherwise, we watched most of the (great) first game of the Orioles double-header with the Blue Jays and some of the (not so great) second game, walked on the dock though most of the birds were hiding from the rain, and now we're finally watching the long-delayed final season of Snowpiercer (Layton! Melanie! Where is Wilford?). Some pictures from Chihuly Garden and Glass yesterday evening, when the light as well as the glass and flowers was gorgeous:
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