Late, Tired

The half moon gives the perfect amount of light. Soft-edged shadows collect shimmering pools that ripple in the night breezes. The pale sea of light laps the walls and pavements, rises to drown the dark world. The unreachable surface swims with stars.

Verse:

Inscription for a Graveyard

by Yvor Winters


When men are laid away,
Revolving seasons bring
New love, corrupting clay
And hearts dissevering.

Hearts that were once so fast,
Sickened with living blood,
Will rot to change at last.
The dead have hardihood.

Death is Eternity,
And all who come there stay,
For choice, now certainty,
No moment breaks away.

Amid this wilderness,
Dazed in a swarm of hours, --
Birds tangled numberless! --
Archaic Summer towers.

The dead are left alone --
Theirs the intenser cost.
You followed to a stone,
And there the trail was lost.

---

Hottest Yet

I've been forgetting to turn on the attic fan. The heat builds up all day, and at night, leaks down into the house, keeping it too warm for Sluggo. I'm good for about fifteen minutes before a crash. Not enough time to check my e-mail (still online, because Juno is still not sending LJ notifications) and check LJ and make a post. I've got all the windows open, but not much cool air is getting in. Mostly, what's getting in is the sound of crickets. Lots of crickets. They, at least, are pleased by the heat. The cats sleep all day and then want to frolic at night. All this, and a partly cooked brain. It might cool down a bit for the weekend. In the meantime, I must remember the attic fan.