Hail new crescent, the herald of the spring:
the oaks prepare new leaves at your coming,
and the last snow is slowly receding —
though winter may have one more storm to fling
right in our faces. The mourning doves sing
of the holly king wounded and dying
and the sap in the maples ascending.
The squirrels return, though they often cling
to the far side of tree trunks; thus they hide
while the hares silflay under the brambles,
and the hawk perches in the highest beech.
At your appearing, the coyote cried,
and an unleashed dog paused in his rambles
to bow, and study what you had to teach.
Comments are done, finally, at least in first-draft form. I’m going to go do grocery shopping in an hour or so, and then come back and write for White Wolf for most of the morning.
While shaving this morning, I cut out a section of my beard. I wound up shaving it all off, because any way that I tried to make it look right and symmetrical, wound up making it look silly. It feels good to be without it, suddenly. I think it makes my face look both softer and kinder.
Update: 8:36am Finished editing G’s comments. He edits mine sometime this morning, and then I’m done with that business. Now I just have to get the hotel settled for DC, and I’ll be all set. Looking forward to seeing tonight, and I’m hoping the snow is light or skips us entirely.
