By Walter de la Mare
My mind is like a clamorous market-place.
All day in wind, rain, sun, its babel wells;
Voice answering to voice in tumult swells.
Chaffering and laughing, pushing for a place,
My thoughts haste on, gay, strange, poor, simple, base;
This one buys dust, and that a bauble sells:
But none to any scrutiny hints or tells
The haunting secrets hidden in each sad face.
The clamour quietens when the dark draws near;
Strange looms the earth in twilight of the West,
Lonely with one sweet star serene and clear,
Dwelling, when all this place is hushed to rest,
On vacant stall, gold, refuse, worst and best,
Abandoned utterly in haste and fear.
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I had a quiet Thursday, but I seem to be recovering from the heat/something I ate, so it was worth it. I had piles of laundry to fold and we had to go to the bank and to QFC, so we only took a short walk around the dock and the neighborhood, but it was cooler and the herons and ducks were hanging out in the long grass.
We watched most of the atrocious Orioles-Cubs game, then I had my Thursday night chat (only three of us), then we watched the end of the delightful Mariners-Angels game (11-0! Cal Raleigh!) and now we're watching The Boys (this holiday special makes the Star Wars one look like a masterpiece). Pike's Place Market:
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