By Jonathan Wells
Love gives all its reasons
as if they were terms for peace.
Love is this but not that
that but not this.
Love as it always was.
But there is no peace in the mountain
cleft where the fruit bats scatter
from the light.
There is no peace in the hollow when
the heat snuffs night’s blue candle.
The outline of brown leaves on
the beach is the wind’s body.
A crow is squawking at the sun
as if the screech itself is dawn.
Let me hear every perfect note.
How I loved that jasper morning.
My Friday morning was taken up with finishing a review of "Coda", the Voyager episode that made us so happy then broke all our hearts so many years ago. Then, while I was working on graphics for the review, we caught up on the season finale of The 100 -- extremely satisfying in almost every way -- and the penultimate episode of Nashville -- can't say the same, but maybe they'll have had a plan to wrap it up in case of cancellation and I'll love next week's.
We had dinner at my parents' house -- Thanksgiving food, since Adam likes tofurkey -- then came home and decided to watch Gattaca on Amazon Prime since somehow none of us had seen it. I really enjoyed it; it's a bit exposition-heavy especially at the beginning, but it's so nice to see a sci-fi movie with almost no gore and not one gratuitous fight scene. It's dated in terms of the uses of genetics, but it's visually striking and I like the soundtrack. Flowers from Longwood Gardens months ago: