It's not summer yet, but, maybe I can convince my mind it is. Or at least Spring. Anyways, I woke up (at 555 ughhhh annoying) with this poem in my head and it's fabulous.


And the stone word fell
On my still-living breast.
Never mind, I was ready.
I will manage somehow.

Today I have so much to do:
I must kill memory once and for all,
I must turn my soul to stone,
I must learn to live again—

Unless . . . Summer's ardent rustling
Is like a festival outside my window.
For a long time I've foreseen this
Brilliant day, deserted house.

The Sentence by Anna Akhmatova

No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneself.

A ROOM OF ONE’S OWN, VIRGINIA WOOLF

via FYLQ