By Rabindranath Tagore
Early in the day it was whispered that we should sail in a boat,
only thou and I, and never a soul in the world would know of this our
pilgrimage to no country and to no end.
In that shoreless ocean,
at thy silently listening smile my songs would swell in melodies,
free as waves, free from all bondage of words.
Is the time not come yet?
Are there works still to do?
Lo, the evening has come down upon the shore
and in the fading light the seabirds come flying to their nests.
Who knows when the chains will be off,
and the boat, like the last glimmer of sunset,
vanish into the night?
Our furnace is fixed, for now, which entailed two HVAC technicians cleaning and replacing parts while warning us that we really should plan to replace the 30+ year old heating unit, though they think it will last the winter. Which is mixed good news, I guess? They wore masks the whole time and I was only in the same room as them for a few seconds, so I felt fine having them here, apart from the money aspect.
It was otherwise an unexciting day with gorgeous weather (we took a walk early so we'd be back for the repairs, and saw bunnies as well as chipmunks hard at work). Evening TV was the World Series plus the start of the sixth season of Schitt's Creek, which I am going to miss when we're done! From George Sherwood's gorgeous Wind, Waves, and Light: Art in Motion exhibit at Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden:
Col Du Couleur
Memory of Water