Look out, woodland creatures!
Well, I knew it would happen sometime! I hit a deer last night, driving through Mt. Doug park to meet Meg and Travis at Starbucks. Fortunately, the car didn't sustain any damage, which means the deer probably isn't too much the worse for wear...I hope! I got out and tried to find it, but it had high-tailed it into the bush and it was dark and rainy and I didn't have a flashlight. We met the kids at Travis & Jesse's place and Trav checked the car, but agreed that it was ok.
I had a very nice lady at 911. I called them cause I wasn't sure what to do. She was very kind and calm and helpful. Thank you, lady, whoever you are!
Oh yes, Emily and I were ok, too! I just felt terrible about it and still do. You hate to ever harm any creature, but it was not there one second and there the next -- literally. At least I wasn't on my phone or rifling through my purse or anything!
As this experience came only a few hours after I visited one of our graduates in the hospital (she took some pills she wasn't supposed to...there is some confusion why at this point) it made for a sad Saturday. The best part of the day was going over to Starbucks with the kids, playing cards, drinking coffee and laughing up a storm. It's got to be done, or we'd be crying up a storm I guess.
I told Emily that I was going to ask everyone to post a stanza from one of their favourite poems. Here's one of my favourite's, "What Lips My Lips Have Kissed" by Edna St. Vincent MIllay. It sounds a little melancholy, but I don't feel that way. I just like it, which is what makes poetry so cool. Everyone responds differently to each poem! Hope you all have a great week and please watch out for those little woodland creatures, won't you??
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.