morning poem, sunday breakfast and a walk along the river

 

march

the keen north wind pipes loud;

swift scuds the flying cloud;

light lies the new fallen snow;

the ice-clad eaves drip slow,

for glad spring has begun,

and to the ardent sun

the earth, long time so bleak,

turns a frost-bitten cheek.

through the clear sky of march,

blue to the topmost arch,

swept by the new year's gales,

the crow, harsh-clamoring, sails.

by the swift river's flood

the willow's golden blood

mounts to the highest spray,

more vivid day by day;

and fast the maples now

crimson through every bough,

and from the alder's crown

swing the long catkins brown.

by celia thaxter (1835-1894)

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we decided to have pancakes for breakfast this morning . . we usually use the plates chanda made when she was little . . 

hmmmm . . 

no pancakes for cats . . 

pluto watching the shenanigans . . 

a late afternoon walk along the river . . 

the crocuses are up . .

we had dinner at the ramen place we like . .