By Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the heart feels a languid grief
Laid on it for a covering,
And how sleep seems a goodly thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?
And how the swift beat of the brain
Falters because it is in vain,
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf
Knowest thou not? and how the chief
Of joys seems—not to suffer pain?
Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the soul feels like a dried sheaf
Bound up at length for harvesting,
And how death seems a comely thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?
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It rained all day Thursday, so it was a pretty quiet day except for the chickadees and downy woodpeckers who came to visit our seed bell. I did a bunch of paperwork in the morning, we had eggwiches for lunch, and eventually the rain let up enough to walk to the park, though it was still drizzling and overcast -- no beaver today but we saw the eagles at a distance.
I had Thursday night chat, after which we watched this week's Ghosts (poor Trevor) and the new episode of Pluribus, which is still interesting but there are so many things that need explaining, like how all the newly freed animals as well as humans are not going to starve to death very quickly. Autumn leaves and skies at Lake Sammamish State Park last weekend:
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