Hints of Changes Coming

Yesterday's heat has been dissipated by the night's chill. The stars are diminished in number by a thin overcast. Last evening, as I stood in the back yard, a sudden breeze sent a few dozen browned oak leaves fluttering down to skitter on the walkway. Despite the heat, there came an autumnal sense, and thoughts of deeper chills to come, as though the breeze had been blown back to now from future winter. I have never liked the winter here, but now I had a vision of snow falling in gray silence, piling up until all the houses were buried, and the whited tips of trees rose above a pristine mass, the sleeping town an icy Pompeii, concealed utterly: And this vision was heartening. Let the town go to sleep under falling snow, and wake to darkness enveloping each of its isolated fragments. Let voices be muted by the serene mass of accumulated flakes, so that the small creatures trekking the soft surface hear nothing from below but, perhaps, the collective vibration of stifled muttering.

Bummed

The afternoon might have been enjoyable, had I not been feeling out of sorts of late. (Out of sorts of late. I like the way that rolls, and the slight sense of disorientation it gives me.) With the cooling of evening, I note that there is definitely a touch of fall in the air. We have reached that time when it is cool enough fro me to be comfortable, but not cold enough for Sluggo to be reasonable stable. Once it is that cold, it will be uncomfortable for me. Sluggo and I have no overlap in our comfort zones, alas.

My concentration is shot to hell, as it always is when I am enduring any sort of stress. That's one of the problems with anxiety disorders. I sometimes wish I were one of those people who actually enjoyed overdosing on adrenalin. Of course, I'd then most likely be an ass. But then, I wouldn't know that I was an ass, because asses never do. Anyway, I'm bummed, and I hate bitching in my journal, so I'm going to shut up.