A not very good picture of my not very good haircut, but here it is: Norah is bright-eyed since she's finally sleeping through the night!!! I am so full of sleep I don't quite know what to do.
Amira's hair is officially long enough to wear in braids and she is quite vain about them. She's developed a crush on a 7 year-old boy down the street and is under the delusion that he cares about her hair. Mohamed is quite distressed about the whole thing.
Love at the lips was touch As sweet as I could bear; And once that seemed too much; I lived on air That crossed me from sweet things, The flow of- was it musk From hidden grapevine springs Down hill at dusk?
I had the swirl and ache From sprays of honeysuckle That when they're gathered shake Dew on the knuckle.
I craved strong sweets, but those Seemed strong when I was young; The petal of the rose It was that stung.
Now no joy but lacks salt That is not dashed with pain And weariness and fault; I crave the stain
Of tears, the aftermark Of almost too much love, The sweet of bitter bark And burning clove.
When stiff and sore and scarred I take away my hand From leaning on it hard In grass and sand,
The hurt is not enough: I long for weight and strength To feel the earth as rough To all my length.