By Percy Bysshe Shelley
Is it that in some brighter sphere
We part from friends we meet with here?
Or do we see the Future pass
Over the Present’s dusky glass?
Or what is that that makes us seem
To patch up fragments of a dream,
Part of which comes true, and part
Beats and trembles in the heart?
It was a quiet Monday around here, gorgeous weather, the entire neighborhood covered in azaleas. I didn't get a lot done besides laundry and catching up on the news, but that's fine. It was a great day for walking and for sorting photos, so I did some of both. Paul made homemade macaroni and cheese with fake chicken for dinner and we had half-price Easter Cadbury creme eggs for dessert.
Evening TV included The Nethers, which has several female characters I absolutely love so I'm ignoring the series creator, and Debris, which was absolutely fantastic so I looked to see how the ratings have been and wished I hadn't -- typical sci-fi on major network problems despite really nicely developed central characters. Goslings from Lake Whetstone over the weekend: