Vertigo, Gazing at Stars

The rough-edged, massy dark of starlit trees frames the sky which moonless, cloudless, swarms with pinpoint lights that wheel nightlong, drawing the eye, summoning thoughts of distance. I watch them and listen to rustling leaves -- muttering tongues of trees -- while weight of earth tugs at my feet and makes my airiest desires unattainable, lashing me with time. Twirled to face the sun, I will conceal myself indoors and dream of invisible Orion, that spatial illusion cast as mythic reference, drifting overhead. All the while, I will know that my words are like the sound of the leaves sent chattering by random breezes.

Quickly

Sluggo's heat prostration prevented me from posting earlier than this. He has been much distressed by the increasing warmth, though the day to me was no more than pleasantly balmy. He will find the next few days hellish, I'm sure. Sluggo is the electronic equivalent of a penguin. An evil penguin.

The local waterfowl passed over once again this evening, as they did early this morning on their way into the mountains. They make their journey in the gray hours before sunrise and after sunset. I still haven't gotten a good look at them, but I hear their calls quite clearly.

I have also heard the song of some bird which I take to be a lark. I recall one of the same species hanging about last spring, issuing its call throughout the afternoons for several days running until it was at last joined by a second bird of its kind. They spent an evening or two singing duets and then vanished from the neighborhood, presumably to nest in some more secluded locale. My street, it appears, is an avian pickup joint not suited for long term residence.

And the house is still so warm that I'm sure Sluggo is not suited to any long term use. I wouldn't mind a bit of fresh air myself, so I'm going out to watch the stars.