YAWN, Cool Things, and a Poem.

Cool things that happened today:
  • I managed to finish ALL of my paperwork and only have progress reports to do tomorrow.
  • I got invited to a little ceramics shop and painted a gnome, squirrel, and mushroom house on a little box. On the lid, I wrote a line from an e.e. cummings poem.
  • I came to the realization that it is almost impossible to keep drawings of mushrooms from looking like .....other things.
  • My boss added the upstairs copy machine onto my work laptop.
  • Found my earrings that I thought I'd LOST.
  • Found the coolest coat at Old Navy.
  • Got a friend request from one of my BFF's from Southwestern on Facebook.
Yay! The photo above is of the foot of my bed. The bed is an antique - I think it was my grandmother's. I strung those letters across it one day when I was bored. The PURPOSE of the photo is to imply (or not imply, since I'm about to state it) that I am going to bed early, because I was pooped when I got home but never got around to kicking back, since I went to the aforementioned ceramics store. Speaking of that, I should get the piece back in a week or so, and will certainly post it on here when I pick it up.

In closing, I'd like to share a poem by Shelley:


In silence then they took the way
Beneath the fores's solitude.
It was a vast and antique wood,
Thro' which they took their way;
And the gray shades of evening
O'er that green wilderness did fling
Still deeper solitude.
Pursuing still the path that wound
The vast and knotted trees around
Thro' which slow shades were wandering,
To a deep lawny dell they came,
To a stone seat beside a spring,
O'er which the columned wood did frame
A roofless temple, like the fane
Where, ere new creeds could faith obtain,
Man's early race once knelt bemeath
The overhanding diety.
O'er this fair fountain hung the sky,
Now spangled with rare stars. The snake,
The pale snake, that with eager breath
Creeps here his noontide thirst to slake,
Is beaming with many a mingled hue,
shed from yon dome's eternal blue,
When he floats on that dark and lucid flood
In the light of his own loveliness;
And the birds that in the fountain dip
Their plumes, with fearless fellowship
Above and round him wheel and hover.
The fitful wind is heard to stir
One solitary leaf on high;
The chirping of the grasshopper
Fills every pause. There is emotion
In all that dewlls at noontide here:
Then, thro' the intricate wild wook,
A maze of life and light and motion
Is woven. But there is a stillness now:
Gloom, and the trance of Nature now:
The snake is in his cave alseep;
the birds are on the branches dreaming:
Only the shadows creep:
Only the glow-worm is gleaming:
Only the owls and the nightingales
Wake in this dell when daylight fails,
And gray shades gather in the woods:
And the owls have all fled far away
In a merrier glen to hoot and play,
For the moon is veiled and sleeping now.
The accustomed nightingale still broods
On her accustomed bough,
But she is mute; for her false mate
Has fled and left her desolate.

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