On a break from the insane amount of papers and studying this week, watching an SNL "Gilly" clip, and listening to the rain stop and start outside my window. Borrowed two poetry books from Emma, in the wonderful suite next door to me. Here's one from Jo Shapcott's Of Mutability.
"Cedar of Lebanon"
Not for climbing, its branches
are spread in flat planes
for maximum solar exposure,
scraggy underneath and green
melting into blue-green on top.
I do not know it, over there across the valley.
I cannot smell the sap from here,
nor think of it as mystical or healing.
I do not know why I want to speak
about vertical grooves and dark bark
the colour of elephant hide
or cracked pony, when it is not so.
Photos top to bottom: New Swedish ticking dishtowels from IKEA, re-organized bulletin board, mums being cut to dry so I can have flowers in my room all winter.