Poem for Tuesday and USBG Cacti

The Thanksgiving Cactus 

By Nathan Spoon 

Here in a chair 

in a cozy corner of this room, 

under the glow of a lamp, 

with the sun replaced by 

the moon     hanging 

boldly in the sky, I pause 

to consider the small pink buds 

of a toothed cactus, 

and I pause to consider 

the moon as well,     although 

it is too far away to touch, 

and in my pausing I feel 

as if I am a wave on the ocean 

or a seed     pulsing 

in a warmer season, now 

that the leaves have gone 

from most of the trees, now 

that frost dusts the brittle grass 

most mornings, now 

that weather keeps us more 

indoors,     so that we are more 

able to be together, even more 

together, even during moments 

in lamplight     like this one.

-------- 

My throat is still horribly sore, but my covid test is still negative, so I just took it very easy on Tuesday -- slept late, did some reading, considered going for a walk but it was raining really hard. So I did some cleaning, then my Voyager group watched "Author, Author" (not one of my favorites, but admittedly I hate the way pretty much every character is written by this point of the seventh season). 

Cheryl and I watched Skeleton Crew together before dinner (pace a little slow this week, but it's fun not knowing what Jude Law is up to and the droid, as is so often the case, steals scenes), and now we're giving Doctor Odyssey another try after reading fun internet theories, trying to figure out whether he's in a coma or purgatory or what. Cacti and desert plants at the US Botanical Garden: