Shopping took a big enough chunk out of the day that I feel pressed for time. I believe English people will murder one another on television at nine o'clock, or at least in the time slot that begins then, so I must abandon any attempt at along entry. Maybe next week I'll be able to shop on Friday and have more time on Sunday. Today is done for.
Sunday Verse
Heat
by H. D.
O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.
Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air—
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and rounds the grapes.
Cut through the heat—
plow through it
turning it on either side
of your path.