Last night I couldn't sleep; here's what I wrote in my journal:
It's 1:00 a.m., and stuffiness from allergies and the last of a summer cold is keeping me awake. Earlier tonight, the Young Man drew my attention to the full moon: hanging precisely between the tops of the dogwood and the horse chestnut, its burnt-orange disk glowed like a living coin. Now it sails high above me, soft white diffused into a misty gleaming, lighting the darkness like a miniature sun. The mockingbird in the dogwood sings to it, a fascinating repertoire of a dozen calls or more. Maybe I should play it some Wagner.
7 comments:
lovely.
Did you?
Thanks for visiting, gentlemen. GT, no, not at 1:00 a.m. -- no energy to find some and take it outside! (Drugs will do that to you.) I may some night, though, as he is a very persistent visitor!
"...he is a very persistent visitor!"
Which was of course my next thought. "Lovely" unless you are trying to sleep. It doesn't take long for the little buggers to become rather annoying. :-)
I love mockingbirds passionately, but like the Muse, they certainly can decide to sing at inconvenient times!
I miss getting to encounter your insights on life regularly. How are you doing?
Publius -- finally got up a new post! I shall email you when I get through the first Summit round, which pretty much has consumed the past couple of weeks.
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