(no subject)

[tristfully]

'And the days are not full enough'

And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass.

Ezra Pound

Anyway. Who's excited about the ski trip?

Comments

[princeofcat]

Oh, I've never been skiing in my life and I'm going to break minimum seven bones, spectacularly.

But I like that poem.

[tristfully]

Must you?

Me too. It makes me eager.

This one reminds me of you.

’In Epitaphium’

Write me when this geste, our life is done:
“He tired of fame before the fame was won.”

[princeofcat]

Now I don't really need to answer that.

Eager for what? Just that there's bound to be more in that grass?

[...] Huh. Something for my tombstone.

[tristfully]

Exactly. I haven’t ruffled a single blade all year.

[princeofcat]

You sure? Hard to tell that unless you're the grass.

[tristfully]

Oh. That's pretty.

How am I meant to ask the grass?

[princeofcat]

That's the hard part.
Maybe just watch it for a while.

[tristfully]

How very Thoreauvian of you.

[princeofcat]

Ehhhh not in practice

[tristfully]

Even Thoreau wasn't very Thoreauvian in practice.