From what do varieties of measure arise?

I take my title (so as not to keep you in suspense) from The Golden Harp, or Boston Sacred Melodist, one of the books I collated for this morning's lab session.

A combination of counting leaves, inspecting papers, feeling animal hides (used for bindings, bien sur), and drinking a good caffeinated beverage after each of these activities has left me feeling expansive beyond myself, desrious of writing at least two poems before doing some homework before having dinner in ninety minutes. So, let me take this quick pause to show you my favorite images from yesterday.

The icon of the "academical village"

Early evening in the Rotunda

My favorite entry in the "I Saw You" column of the Charlottesville Hook's personals section

The view from my dorm room

A somewhat skeptical title-bearer in one of the books I collated (correctly, even!) last night

I have high hopes of getting actual, reflective prose to you all sometime soon. But it might be later than I'd like, rather than sooner. I know you understand. I'm repriming the pump. Expect intense goodness (and/or good intensity) in the near future.