By Léonie Adams
From weariness I looked out on the stars
And there beheld them, fixed in throbbing joy,
Nor racked by such mad dance of moods as mars
For us each moment’s grace with swift alloy.
And as they pierced the heavens’ serene deep
An envy of that one consummate part
Swept me, who mock. Whether I laugh or weep,
Some inner silences are at my heart.
Cold shame is mine for all the masks I wear,
Belying that in me which shines and sings
Before Him, to face down man’s alien stare—
A graceless puppet on unmeaning strings,
I that looked out, and saw, and was at rest,
Stars, and faint wings, rose-etched along the west.
It poured for pretty much all of Saturday. Adam went to a movie marathon with friends; Daniel (who sprained his knee before we went to the beach) just wanted to rest. So we mostly stayed in and did chores, and I have nothing exciting to report -- I only went out to make some necessary stops and ascertain that the bunnies (well, one bunny) did not mind the ongoing rain. On Sunday, both kids go to College Park -- Daniel for his last full week of work, Adam for an orientation kayaking trip!
We did watch the first Capaldi episode of Doctor Who, which I thought was...well, kind of boring. Moffat's writing staff has never really sold me on Clara's awesomeness, though I like Coleman well enough, and all the cute cameos just didn't engage me, while the gender politics aren't an improvement just because there's no Doctor-Companion flirting (does "wife" always have to mean "devoted ball and chain")? But speaking of dinosaurs, here they are at Jurassic Putt in Nags Head: