By Rudyard Kipling
Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us,
And black are the waters that sparkled so green.
The moon, o’er the combers, looks downward to find us
At rest in the hollows that rustle between.
Where billow meets billow, there soft be thy pillow;
Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!
The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee,
Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas.
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We spent most of Sunday in Ballard, again with younger son, his girlfriend, and her parents. Older son met us for breakfast at the Portage Bay Cafe there -- his fiancee is recovering from an illness she was briefly afraid might be covid -- and after eating a huge amount of eggs and pancakes, we walked to the nearby Ballard Locks and fish ladder, where we watched boats and seals in the channels and saw salmon in the water plus herons, seagulls, and an eagle flying above everything.
From there, older son headed home to walk his dogs and the rest of us walked to the National Nordic Museum, which son's girlfriend and her parents had never visited and since their family is largely Icelandic, they were very interested. We also went to Scandinavian Specialties store, where we got Swedish cheese and some snacks. None of us was ravenous for dinner after the huge brunch, so we came home, did laundry, and watched The Imaginary, which is uneven but nicely animated.
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