By Rabindranath Tagore
Early in the day it was whispered that we should sail in a boat,
only thou and I, and never a soul in the world would know of this our
pilgrimage to no country and to no end.
In that shoreless ocean,
at thy silently listening smile my songs would swell in melodies,
free as waves, free from all bondage of words.
Is the time not come yet?
Are there works still to do?
Lo, the evening has come down upon the shore
and in the fading light the seabirds come flying to their nests.
Who knows when the chains will be off,
and the boat, like the last glimmer of sunset,
vanish into the night?
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My Wednesday started with chat with my high school friends, which is always a pleasure though one of them is having an extremely shitty week and the other two were busy with family stuff. Then I had lunch, did some computer stuff, and went for a walk to the lake; it was overcast and cool, but there were lots of ducks, three eagles, and many cormorants.
I was sure that the Griffin on The Masked Singer was James Van Der Beek, and I was very pleased to be proven right, though now I'm worried about why Rita Ora has been absent twice in her brief time on the show. We had baked potatoes for dinner, and now we're at the start of season 7 of House and I see why it's so controversial. Nautical shopping in Edmonds:
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