September 4: Episodes of "Girls," Gerard Manley Hopkins, "Hurrahing in Harvest"

So, I recently acquired the ability to watch HBO on my iPad.  My sister subscribed to the premium channels, and she kindly gave me her password.  Therefore, I have been binge-watching season three of Girls.  Yes, I am not ashamed to admit that I love that series, and I have two episodes left.

I will certainly be a little depressed when I'm done with the season.  However, I have plans to watch the entire series of Breaking Bad.  Granted, it doesn't have Lena Dunham or Adam Driver, but it does have a shitload of Emmy Awards.  It is certainly a little darker than Girls, but I am not averse to darkness.

I don't like things ending.  TV series.  Jobs.  Good books.  Good movies.  Good chocolate.  I'm still getting used to the end of summer.  Not really enjoying autumn so far.  Long days of work.  Long days of teaching.  Acute bronchitis.  Short weekends.  I'm sure, in a few weeks, I'll be used to my new life.  At the moment, allow me some time to mourn.

The poem I have from G. M. Hopkins sort of celebrates the conclusion of summer.  I'm trying to get excited.  Tomorrow, I will start the countdown to Saint Marty's Day, that annual holiday of everything me.

Saint Marty will have to go up to his attic and get his Saint Marty's Day decorations down soon.

Hurrahing in Harvest

by:  Gerard Manley Hopkins

Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the stooks rise
     Around; up shove, what wind-walks! what lovely behaviour
     Of silk-sack clouds! has wilder, wilful-wavier
Meal-drift moulded ever and melted across skies?

I will, I lift up, I lift up heart, eyes,
     Down all that glory in the heavens to glean our Saviour;
     And, eyes, heart, what looks, what lips yet gave you a
Rapturous love's greeting of realer, of rounder replies?

And the azurous hung hills are his world-wielding shoulder
     Majestic--as a stallion stalwart, very-violet-sweet!--
These things, these things were here and but the beholder
     Wanting; which two when they once meet,
The heart rears wings bold and bolder
     And hurls for him, O half hurls earth for him off under his feet.

Admit it!  You watch, too.