Poem for Monday and Elm Park Eagles

The Eagle 

By Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;

Close to the sun in lonely lands,

Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;

He watches from his mountain walls,

And like a thunderbolt he falls.

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My Monday as usual involved laundry and sorting photos from the weekend, plus some other chores and a bit of screaming at idiots on the internet -- at least election day is tomorrow and I won't have to listen to any more voting-related bullshit. It was over 65 degrees, so a really nice day for a long walk.

We caught up on last night's episodes of The Gilded Age, as overwrought as ever, and Maigret, wondering if the two storylines converge. Now we're watching the start of the new season of Lupin, which has too many evil women but the production is good. The bald eagles we saw in Elm Park last weekend: 

Poem for Friday and Towpath Walk

Hallowe'en 

By John Kendrick Bangs 

The ghosts of all things past parade,

Emerging from the mist and shade

That hid them from our gaze,

And, full of song and ringing mirth,

In one glad moment of rebirth,

And again they walk the ways of earth

As in the ancient days.

The beacon light shines on the hill,

The will-o'-wisps the forests fill

With flashes filched from noon;

And witches on their broomsticks spry

Speed here and yonder in the sky,

And lift their strident voices high

Unto the Hunter's Moon.

The air resounds with tuneful notes

From myriads of straining throats,

All hailing Folly Queen;

So join the swelling choral throng,

Forget your sorrow and your wrong,

In one glad hour of joyous song

To honor Hallowe'en!

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I had a fairly quiet Friday: doing some computer work, reading some Slow River with my Kindle Click, looking up a bunch of Patrick Stewart tributes and hilarious comments about the Dune 3 popcorn bucket. We took a long walk while the temperatures were dropping and enjoyed the falling leaves. 

My evening has been catching up on the new season of Boston Blue, which isn't exactly good -- so much nepotism! -- but then they all celebrate Shabbat together and I stop caring. Now we're watching the season finale of Dark Matter and things are about to blow up, literally. The C&O Canal towpath last weekend: 

Greetings from the Canal

A lot of my Wednesday was unpacking, laundry, and chores, though I got to talk briefly with one of my high school friends and watch the first half of Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales with Cel and Laurie. It was dark by the time that finished, but then we took a walk in the chilly evening. 

I took a break from the World Series, which I gather is over now -- congrats Brewers fans -- to watch VisionQuest, which continues to be very enjoyable though I have changed my theories away from Sharon Carter. Now we're watching last week's excellent dark Dark Matter. Animals at the C&O Canal on Monday: 

Poem for Wednesday and Old Sturbridge Frankenstein

Mutability 

By Percy Bysshe Shelley 

Quoted in chapter 10 of Frankenstein by Mary Shelley 

We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;

    How restlessly they speed and gleam and quiver,

Streaking the darkness radiantly! yet soon

Night closes round, and they are lost for ever:—

Or like forgotten lyres whose dissonant strings

    Give various response to each varying blast,

To whose frail frame no second motion brings

    One mood or modulation like the last.

We rest; A dream  has power to poison sleep.

    We rise—one wandering thought pollutes the day.

We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep,

Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away:—

It is the same!—For, be it joy or sorrow,

    The path of its departure still is free;

Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;

    Nought may endure but Mutability.

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I had my usual chatty Wednesday around some chores and some fun. I had to rearrange my Tarot decks a bit because I acquired three last week, I read some of Ammonite, I talked to three of my high school friends after lunch, I set up a new cat toy that's supposed to help file their nails, then I watched the rest of Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides with Cel and Laurie. 

We took a walk after dark, ate dinner, and watched the live-action Moana, which I really liked; it's true that it's utterly derivative of the animated film, but it's also beautiful to look at and the performers are a lot of fun. Now we're watching the season finale of Slow Horses. From Old Sturbridge Village's Phantoms By Firelight Frankenstein encounter, performers and the Creature:

Poem for Friday and Elm Park Fall

Autumn Fires 

By Robert Louis Stevenson 

In the other gardens

And all up the vale,

From the autumn bonfires

See the smoke trail!

Pleasant summer over

And all the summer flowers,

The red fire blazes,

The grey smoke towers.

Sing a song of seasons!

Something bright in all!

Flowers in the summer,

Fires in the fall!

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We had rain most of Friday, though it stopped long enough in the afternoon to take a long walk and enjoy the neighborhood leaves. I did a bunch of computer work in the morning, and in the afternoon I went to the post office in Holden to mail a couple of packages. Tonight's Guardians-Rays game was postponed due to rain. 

That meant we could binge a whole bunch of episodes of The Diplomat, which is maybe less believable than previous seasons but still so, so enjoyable -- great actors with great chemistry and snappy dialogue; beautiful mansions, gardens and government buildings; it feels like sort of a dark inverse of The West Wing. Delayed from yesterday, here are photos of the fall color and birds that I took in Elm Park:

Poem for Thursday and Renaissance Faire Music

A Musical Instrument 

By Elizabeth Barrett Browning 

I. 

What was he doing, the great god Pan, 

    Down in the reeds by the river ? 

Spreading ruin and scattering ban, 

Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, 

And breaking the golden lilies afloat 

    With the dragon-fly on the river. 

II. 

He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, 

    From the deep cool bed of the river : 

The limpid water turbidly ran, 

And the broken lilies a-dying lay, 

And the dragon-fly had fled away, 

    Ere he brought it out of the river. 

III. 

High on the shore sat the great god Pan, 

    While turbidly flowed the river ; 

And hacked and hewed as a great god can, 

With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed, 

Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed 

    To prove it fresh from the river. 

IV. 

He cut it short, did the great god Pan, 

    (How tall it stood in the river !) 

Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, 

Steadily from the outside ring, 

And notched the poor dry empty thing 

    In holes, as he sate by the river. 

V. 

This is the way,' laughed the great god Pan, 

    Laughed while he sate by the river,) 

The only way, since gods began 

To make sweet music, they could succeed.' 

Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, 

    He blew in power by the river. 

VI. 

Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan ! 

    Piercing sweet by the river ! 

Blinding sweet, O great god Pan ! 

The sun on the hill forgot to die, 

And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly 

    Came back to dream on the river. 

VII. 

Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, 

    To laugh as he sits by the river, 

Making a poet out of a man : 

The true gods sigh for the cost and pain, — 

For the reed which grows nevermore again 

    As a reed with the reeds in the river. 

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My Thursday started early because I had a 9 am semiannual physical (with the PA because after the doctor canceled on me last week, she had no openings till the end of November and I have prescriptions I need renewed before then, though I really liked the PA and she spent more time with me than most doctors ever have). In the afternoon I went with Paul to his eye doctor, though I walked to That's Entertainment and then to Elm Park to enjoy the animals and fall color for an hour. 

In between we watched most of the Guardians victory while working on our computers, and now we're watching what's probably the end of the Dodgers season after my Thursday night chat and the start of the new season of The Diplomat, which is enormous fun to watch, four main actors at the top of their game and with great chemistry. Because of chat, I didn't have time to upload my park photos, so here are some of the musicians and musical instruments from Mystic Rhythms at King Richard's Faire:

Poem for Wednesday and Elm Park Squirrels

The Mountain and the Squirrel 

By Ralph Waldo Emerson 

The mountain and the squirrel

Had a quarrel,

And the former called the latter

"Little prig."

Bun replied,

"You are doubtless very big;

But all sorts of things and weather

Must be taken in together

To make up a year

And a sphere.

And I think it no disgrace

To occupy my place.

If I'm not so large as you,

You are not so small as I,

And not half so spry:

I'll not deny you make

A very pretty squirrel track.

Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;

If I cannot carry forests on my back,

Neither can you crack a nut."

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I had a chatty Wednesday with two of my high school friends, then with Laurie and Cel around watching the first half of Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides (the good half of the movie). It was a surprisingly warm day, in the 70s, so also a really nice day for walking. We watched some of the Dodgers-Brewers game around dinner. 

Most of my evening TV was the season premiere of VisionQuest, which is fantastic; the visuals call back to WandaVision is lovely ways, James Spader's performance is a work of art, the use of music is great, Philomena Cunk is villain-adjacent! Then we watched Slow Horses, really mediocre this season. Squirrels of Elm Park: 

Poem for Friday and Elm Park Herons

The Sun Rising 

By John Donne 

Busy old fool, unruly sun,

Why dost thou thus,

Through windows, and through curtains call on us?

Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?

Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide

Late school boys and sour prentices,

Go tell court huntsmen that the king will ride,

Call country ants to harvest offices,

Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,

Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

Thy beams, so reverend and strong

Why shouldst thou think?

I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,

But that I would not lose her sight so long;

If her eyes have not blinded thine,

Look, and tomorrow late, tell me,

Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine

Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me.

Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,

And thou shalt hear, All here in one bed lay.

She's all states, and all princes, I,

Nothing else is.

Princes do but play us; compared to this,

All honor's mimic, all wealth alchemy.

Thou, sun, art half as happy as we,

In that the world's contracted thus.

Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be

To warm the world, that's done in warming us.

Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;

This bed thy center is, these walls, thy sphere.

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I had a pretty quiet Friday. Did some chores and cleaning up, found some Halloween decorations, sorted some computer files. It was yet another gorgeous day, so we took a long walk, then we had dill veggie chicken for dinner for Leif Erikson Day. Since there were no sports, we finished watching Coven Academy, which got more and more silly the more it dragged in Harry Potter and Twilight tropes (vampires! dark magic! people hiding in photos!). 

We also caught up on the Slow Horses episode we missed; I know people think that show is genius, but it often seems contrived and overdramatically dark to me, though well acted. Now we're watching the superb in every way Dark Matter, a show entirely about relationships and choices despite an ostensible science fiction hook, and really exceptional performances as well. Elm Park last weekend had herons as well as geese, turtles, and squirrels: