Poem for Friday and Evergreen Goats

Away 

By James Whitcomb Riley 

I cannot say and I will not say

That she is dead, she is just away.

With a cheery smile and a wave of hand

She has wandered into an unknown land;

And left us dreaming how very fair

Its needs must be, since she lingers there.

And you-oh you, who the wildest yearn

From the old-time step and the glad return-

Think of her faring on, as dear

In the love of there, as the love of here

Think of her still the same way, I say;

She is not dead, she is just away.

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I spent Friday doing three things: working on an obituary/eulogy, finding and uploading photos of Paul's mother, and getting ready to travel (which involved trying on many dresses because I have no idea what's appropriate or necessary for a funeral when it's likely to be 80 degrees and raining). We also bought cat food and visited with our next door neighbor, who's going to take care of them. 

I've mostly been packing this evening around breakfast for dinner, though every time I glanced at the television, there was disappointing baseball (the Orioles losing to the Tigers, the Yankees coming from behind to beat the Red Sox, and the Mariners currently down 3-0 to the Rangers). Here are the goats of the Evergreen State Fair, who get toddler toys and hay bales to climb in lieu of actual goat walks: