Wild rain and golden apples
Nothing but the wild rain again. Feeling damp spirited first thing and conscious of my chesty cold which seems to be trying to stage a palace coup (croup?) and returning. Lorraine and I walked to the post office in the few minutes it wasn't raining. I took the bus to see Janet and Ken this afternoon in the rain, and being fed delicious little pistachio balls and hearing some excellent news: Janet's oncologist told her to go away and come back in a year for a checkup. Ken seeming brighter too, and they'd enjoyed a visit yesterday from their previously tumultuous granddaughter, who is now a model of thoughtfulness. What a difference a year makes. Listening to The Golden Apples of the Sun as an audiobook on the day's travels. I've not read these Ray Bradbury short stories for decades. He is a master of the craft. Home to the cheering news that I have a poem accepted for a magazine called Under the Radar. What is good about this is that it is a new poem. It'...