Day and night, the lake dreams of sky.
A privacy as old as the mountains
And her up there, stuck among peaks. The whole eye
Fastened on hawk, gatherings of cloud or stars,
So little trespass. An airplane once
Crossed her brow; she searched but could not find
A face. Having lived with such strict beauty
She comes to know how the sun is nothing
But itself and the path it throws; the moon
A riddled stone. If only a hand
Would tremble along her cheek, would disturb. Even the elk
Pass by, drawn to the spill of creeks below—
How she cannot help abundance, even as it leaves
Her, as it sings all the way down the mountain.
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Friday started chilly and a bit overcast, but turned into a warm, pretty August day. I had a bunch of chores to do in the morning, I started reading Nghi Vo's The City in Glass, and in the afternoon we walked to the beach, where there were signs warning people to avoid the water because the bacteria count is too high despite the rain this week so there weren't a lot of people despite the arrival of the weekend. We met a neighbor with a bearded dragon he had draped over his shoulder, and we saw some of the Orioles and Mariners' wins around walking and dinner.
Before dinner, I showed Cheryl this week's Star Trek: Strange New Worlds. Then Paul and I ate samosa chaat and watched Foundation, which I'm really enjoying this season; the remaining Wednesday episode, which is pretty good but somehow not grabbing me the way the first season did despite more Catherine Zeta-Jones; and the series finale of Resident Alien, which is funny and touching and reminds me that I will miss the show although it does feel like this story has run its arc. Shopping and signs from the Washington Midsummer Renaissance Faire:
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