What came to hand this morning:
Oh, Lamb of God, I am
Too sharp, too tired,
Make me more amiable, Oh Lamb,
No longer what I am.
So cried poor Colonel Mort, I heard him cry,
And yet he was a good man and fought energetically,
His men loved him, his country too, and did not find him tearful,
Then what a funny cry for him! I thought it made him wonderful.
Change me, Lord Lamb,
Leave me not as I am.
New words. From Davidson: fucktard. The rejection letter came from a fucktard. From a friend in Orange County: buzz-kill. A rejection letter is a buzz-kill.
Great lashing thunderstorms today while the boys and I were at the gym. Trees coming down. Near their mother’s house we were stopped by the fire department because a power line had come down on a road sweeper and the driver was trapped inside. Yesterday paddling a canoe in the Schroon River I saw a sun halo, naked men covering themselves in bushes, and a snapping turtle.
Signs and portents. Heralds of vast doom, or change, or rejection, or maybe just a change in the weather, or maybe still (hopefully) vast doom.