To be Continued

Furious rain is expected here. The mass of mulberry leaves which have fallen over the last two days of drizzle and mist will become sodden. At first, the rain will make an alarming clatter as it drenches them, but as they get wetter they will flatten out and the sound will diminish. That's the way it always is when I don't get around to raking them before a big storm. By the time I get a chance to pick them up, they will be heavy and muddy and the odor of their decay will pervade the air. If there is a freeze, it will be even worse. The mulberry is not a suitable tree for this climate. Even with half its leaves fallen, the tree still casts a dense shade -- or will, if the wan December sun emerges to have its light intercepted. I've long wanted to replace that tree with something else. A pecan would be nice, as it would provide food for the squirrels and birds, along with spring and summer shade. By now, it would be almost bare, and more light would reach my window on sunny days. But I don't know if a pecan would thrive at this elevation, and it would take years to grow large enough to be useful. Thus I let the mulberry remain. Each December I curse it, and each summer I take pleasure in its dense shade. I will probably die before it does.

Sunday again already, and the last day of November. I must try to catch up with my past later today, despite its reluctance to emerge. If I wake up early enough, I might get something done. If I am to wake up early enough, I must now sleep. But first, verse in honor of the moon, of which I have seen little on these recent cloudy nights; nor am I likely to do so any time soon.

( Sunday Verse )

Crap

I'm having a crappy night. It's not like "I'm having a burrito for dinner" or "I'm having that hard drive replaced." It isn't intentional. It's just what's happening. A crappy night. I don't want to grouse endlessly, so I'll go back and deal with the crappiness.

And there's not even a cookie in the house.