By Derek Walcott
The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
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I had a typical nice social Wednesday starting with chat with two of my three high school friends, followed by the atrocious end of the Orioles-Mets game (yet another walk-off) during which I was messaging both Kate and my father. Then Paul and I ate lunch, during which I caught up on some DNC speeches. After I did a couple of chores, Kristen, Laurie, and I watched the end of the first Deadpool and the beginning of the second -- fun to watch especially with them.
We walked to the beach in the lovely cool afternoon, saw grebes and osprey and a frog and heron, then we came home for lasagna and new episodes of Time Bandits which I think were the season finale (where do you go after God vs. Satan?). Now we're watching Secrets of the Zoo (I save politics till morning, I sleep better after seeing animals). I have been amused how much Dnd was apparently played in the Renaissance, at least based on the Canterbury and Washington Midsummer Renaissance Faires:
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