By Robert Frost
The shattered water made a misty din.
Great waves looked over others coming in,
And thought of doing something to the shore
That water never did to land before.
The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,
Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.
You could not tell, and yet it looked as if
The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,
The cliff in being backed by continent;
It looked as if a night of dark intent
Was coming, and not only a night, an age.
Someone had better be prepared for rage.
There would be more than ocean-water broken
Before God's last Put out the light was spoken.
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Monday was another cool, pretty day -- though it's supposed to be over 85 tomorrow, boo -- and I enjoyed it when I wasn't doing laundry, sorting photos, and similar Monday stuff. The internet is still a shitshow, so I took refuge in Tolkien memes when I wasn't reading about Sylvia Beach and catching up on entertainment news about the Emmys and Jewish celebrities who aren't apologists for antisemites (don't worry, Hannah, I'm sure they'll put you in the oven with the Good Jews, not the Israelis, and I won't miss watching the last season of Hacks).
Kristen has work late Wednesday, so we watched the end of The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes today. In the afternoon we walked to the beach, which is quiet now that the kids are back in school except for the ducks. We got home in time for the Orioles game, which they won while we ate dinner. Our evening has been mostly Miss Scarlet with a break for the new Only Murders in the Building, in which Renee Zellwegger is chewing scenery as the love child of Martha Stewart and Gwyneth Paltrow this season. Animals at Ocean Shores' North Jetty:
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