By W.B. Yeats
An ancient bridge, and a more ancient tower,
A farmhouse that is sheltered by its wall,
An acre of stony ground,
Where the symbolic rose can break in flower,
Old ragged elms, old thorns innumerable,
The sound of the rain or sound
Of every wind that blows;
The stilted water-hen
Crossing stream again
Scared by the splashing of a dozen cows;
A winding stair, a chamber arched with stone,
A grey stone fireplace with an open hearth,
A candle and written page.
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I had a typical, lovely Wednesday starting with chat in the morning with all three of my high school friends plus the son of one and two daughters of the other, including younger son's fiancee, who was at work but between students at her office hours. Then I had lunch and watched and episode and a half of Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power with Kristen, which is always delightful.
We walked to the park in the afternoon, put on the Dodgers-Mets game while doing chores, and watched Agatha All Along with Cheryl -- I absolutely loved this week's from the Bar Mitzvah to the Wandavision connections. Then we saw this week's Masked Singer and now we're starting the third season of Heartstopper, a nice double feature with Joe Locke. Furniture and art at Russborough House:
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