A Violin at Dusk
By Lizette Woodworth Reese
Stumble to silence, all you uneasy things,
That pack the day with bluster and with fret.
For here is music at each window set;
Here is a cup which drips with all the springs
That ever bud a cowslip flower; a roof
To shelter till the argent weathers break;
A candle with enough of light to make
My courage bright against each dark reproof.
A hand's width of clear gold, unraveled out
The rosy sky, the little moon appears;
As they were splashed upon the paling red,
Vast, blurred, the village poplars lift about.
I think of young, lost things: of lilacs; tears;
I think of an old neighbor, long since dead.
I spent lots of Wednesday on Zoom calls, but that was lovely -- I had my usual lunchtime chat with my high school friends, and another friend, whom I've known since elementary school but hadn't corresponded with in the decade before the Facebook era, joined us so we could catch up. She's an attorney who went to law school at my college alma mater, so we know people in common from various eras of our lives, and she has expertise in areas of interest to all of us so it was really fun to talk to her. I also did a bunch of Raid Hour Pokemon raids, some distanced and some in person.
Otherwise my Wednesday consisted of chores and still trying to understand the implications of the Google-Oracle lawsuit Supreme Court decision, which older son explained in fast food terms. It was another gorgeous day, nearly 80 degrees, so we took a long walk around the neighborhood and were sung to by lots of wrens before The Masked Singer (always entertaining) and catching up on Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (so much love for Mo's maybe-boyfriend and definitely Zoey don't pick Max ffs) and The Flash (hahaha time travel episode is fun). From McCrillis Gardens: