Night

Some nights when the bright moon rides unseen above a dense cover of cloud, the entire sky glows with a light that seems as though it were being filtered through translucent stone. On such a night, the visible world might be a single vast room in some gigantic palace.The dark shapes of the forest trees rise above me, yet seem small in this room. I imagine that there might be echoes from the crack of twigs or the stirring of small creatures in the underbrush, but that they vanish in the immensity before they can be heard by human ears. Perhaps the cats would hear them, but, no; the clouds are not stone, they are dust and water, and sounds are lost in their softness. Yet dust may once have been stone, and perhaps what I hear in my imagination is the echo of forgotten footsteps in rooms lost long ago. Some nights make me wonder.

(no subject)

I had one of those entrepreneurial independent telephone guys out to fix a jack that had quit working. He putzed around for a while, then left without testing the phone line. It works, though. But he also left without putting the cover back on the outside junction box. And it is raining. I discovered it when I went out to put the rain hat back on the box. (If the box gets wet, I lose my Internet connection, even though the phone continues to work.) Ah, the spirit of free enterprise. The quality of service in small towns. (/sarcasm) I want the real telephone company back.

(II've been trying to post this through the client for 17 minutes. Juno's home page is not yet fully open. Damned wet wires.)