That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
– Sonnet 73, W.Shakespeare
There was a cute resident at the fracture clinic where H had the final xray on her arm this week. The clinic specializes in cute male resident pediatricians. But alas…Hadara is too young to appreciate and I am too old to flirt, which is both a loss and a relief, since I was never adept at it. Inside, however, I’m as young as ever, and grinning.