sunday at home -- week four

in april

 

 again the woods are odorous, the lark

lifts on upsoaring wings the heaven gray

that hung above the tree-tops, veiled and dark,

where branches bare disclosed the empty day.

after long rainy afternoons an  hour

comes with its shafts of golden light and flings

them at the windows in a radiant shower,

and rain drops beat the panes like timorous wings.

then all is still. the stones are crooned to sleep

by the soft sound of rain that slowly dies;

and cradled in the branches, hidden deep

in each bright bud, a slumbering silence lies.

by rainer maria rilke  (1875 - 1926)

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 we listened to first brooklyn's palm sunday service this morning . . (when i was looking out the street side window this afternoon, i saw a person walking by with a palm in his hand! where did he get it?) (writing this now on monday: i found out through my friend kendall that the church on fifth avenue had put out on their sidewalk two boxes of palms for people to take.)

and chanda rode her bicycle around the neighborhood:

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 we roasted a chicken for dinner, along with fusilli and the leftover marinara sauce, sautéed zucchini and an arugula, tomato and sunflower sprout salad, and i spoke with my cousin in annapolis via facetime.