By Elizabeth Fleming
Beyond the yards the water sings
To covered frame and lowered mast
Where yachts like birds with folded wings
Are waiting til the storms are past;
Are waiting for the winter days
To turn to suns of spring again
When they will follow lovely ways
By misty loch and mountain chain.
The green tide with its silver tongue
Tells tempting tales of foam and breeze
And islands old as ever young
Lying in lonely hollow seas.
Even the pebbles on the shore
Shout to the painted wooden host
To lay aside their dreams once more
And race the winds from coast to coast.
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I had a fairly typical Wednesday, meaning the laundry still isn't folded but I got to talk to lots of friends -- all three of my good high school friends, though not all at the same time, in the morning, then a run out to the store to get food since our refrigerator and freezer are still mostly empty after the blackout, then watching the first half of The Marvels with Kristen...one of the most underrated movies of the past several years.
We walked to the park (the parts that are open anyway) in the cold late afternoon, then came home for dinner and The Masked Singer (Boyz II Men, I mean Buffaloes, should win this season, though there have been some talented athlete-singers). Now we're watching the Yacht Rock dockumentary, which is an absolute joy. I'll post the mini-monuments soon, but I was excited how many new-to-me US Botanic Garden-themed sculptures they had there this year:
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