I know we have a lot to say, but I don't want to talk right now

The last few days have been rather more emotionally high-octane than I feel is really warranted by the general state of the world, even though in all cases the precipitating events are inextricable from same. It is snowing again, blowing lightly through the streetlights, and the parking lot looks like a noir set in winter, especially with the red-and-white signage of Assembly Square blinking over the horizon and a tangle of Christmas lights wreathing a tree glimpsed on Broadway through the receding frames of fences and the unlit backs of buildings. I had a sharp moment of memory coming across this picture from the Amadeus I saw at the Old Vic in 1999 and fell stupidly in love with—I associated Suchet's Salieri irresistibly with Babylon 5's Londo Mollari and I wonder if I even made the connection of costume at the time. I am indifferent to the analysis, but I like this poem; one of the lines in it keeps giving me an echo. rushthatspeaks sent me a lovely article about the astronomy books of Margret and H. A. Rey. My parents celebrate their forty-seventh anniversary in the morning.