March 19, 2020

. . . covid-19: day 7 | US: GA | info | act

Henry took some photos of the family yesterday. I’m not sure why mine is so dark.

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And here’s a poem about isolation.

Alone
By: Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were—I have not seen As others saw—I could not bring My passions from a common spring— From the same source I have not taken 5 My sorrow—I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone— And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone— Then—in my childhood—in the dawn Of a most stormy life—was drawn 10 From ev’ry depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still— From the torrent, or the fountain— From the red cliff of the mountain— From the sun that ’round me roll’d 15 In its autumn tint of gold— From the lightning in the sky As it pass’d me flying by— From the thunder, and the storm— And the cloud that took the form 20 (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view—

                    

Since it’s OK to take a walk, Henry and I went to Wesleyan for a bit of fresh air. The campus was pretty deserted, and it was a beautiful day, despite the pollen.

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