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

I first read and fell in love with this poem a few years ago in college. The picture that forms in my mind when I read this short poem is the same now as it was then--I glimpse a little mouse running in a field, it's tail quickly disappearing into the tall blades of brown grass. I was so struck by the metaphor that the poem became an instant favorite of mine-- I'm always drawn to sad romantic things like this. In college I imagined myself as that little mouse in the huge field and the poem, the stillness of the grass, felt so true to me. But now, a few years having passed, I find it harder to identify with that solitary mouse. My picture nowadays is so overrun with mice that when I imagine us running through the grass, I daresay we leave it flattened in our wake.

And while there will only be the three of us on this little trip, we will make every effort possible to shake the grass, rattle the roots, and kick up a mighty cloud of dust wherever we go (especially Olive).