It's William Blake's birthday,
a Sunday this year.

The Garden of Love

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I had never seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of the Chapel were shut,
And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door;
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore;

And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be;
And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys & desires.

--William Blake

Though it was chilly, windy, and cloudy, Mary and I spent the day planting ornamental purple and white cabbage, blue violets around our front yard yesterday. We haven't decorated outside of the house in many a Christmas. The new color will do. We should be enjoying it all well into March.

Good souls in the house with us made a great Thanksgiving: Joy, Pat, Anthony, Eileen, Joanne, Ellen.