Friday, August 30, 2013


Two thirds packed, bathroom clean, one load of laundry done, (kind of expensive) car rental reserved to get from Springs to Denver, two Singin' in the Rain performances left and one melodrama spoof show. Library books to return, kitchen and bedroom to clean, linens to launder.

Listening to -

 and -

Thinking about -

Say what you will, and scratch my heart to find
The roots of last year's roses in my breast;
I am as surely riper in my mind
As if the fruit stood in the stalls confessed.
Laugh at the unshed leaf, say what you will,
Call me in all things what I was before,
A flutterer in the wind, a woman still;
I tell you I am what I was and more.
My branches weigh me down, frost cleans the air,
My sky is black with small birds bearing south;
Say what you will, confuse me with fine care,
Put by my word as but an April truth,–
Autumn is no less on me that a rose
Hugs the brown bough and sighs before it goes.

Because Edna knows everything.

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