October 22nd, 2017

caillebotte_man at his window

Falling Through Holes

The house decided to cling to its autumnal chill today, despite the windows being open for the milder air outside. Tomorrow it should be easier to warm up, since our high is supposed to be 83. Tonight I'll be stuck with the furnace again since it's only 65 in here right now and sure to get chillier.

Still no more walnuts for me. I heard the raccoons crunching a few last night, but I don't know where they found them as I searched carefully and saw none. Raccoons must either be able to smell them, or they have way better eyesight than I've got anymore.

One would think that with not needing to spend time shopping today, and waking up pretty early this morning, I'd have plenty of time on my hands, but I don't. Yet I can't remember getting anything done today. Time falls through the holes in my brain, I guess.

Last Monday I found out that Richard Wilbur, one of the best American poets of our time, had died the previous Saturday at the age of 96. Had I known soon enough I would have posted something of his for Sunday Verse last week. I'm doing it tonight instead, with one of my three or so favorites from his work. I've posted it before, but it's well worth repeating.


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