By Susan Wheeler
My mother wouldn’t stand up
to wave. My father made certain
the door locked behind me.
But when I went for your door
you came too. Your mouth
made a flute of my arm,
its music a glass on the past.
My love, my love, went its song.
Now there is no need to leave.
The storm left over from Hurricane Zeta made it a very rainy, dark, and occasionally windy day. We did not go outside till nearly 6 p.m., when the rain was only a drizzle, and I have nothing exciting to report from earlier in the day which was all chores and reading.
We watched three more episodes of The Queen's Gambit, which is excellent; so many movies about women succeeding in fields dominated by men either show them as paragons or focus on how terribly men treat them; this does neither, it's just Beth. Some Gathland photos: