Too Much Fun

I realize with some dismay that almost the entire month of January has passed, in the span of what seems like no more than a few days. The now clear night sky reveals that the moon has waned at least a third from its first fullness of the year. Another holiday marking time's relentless passage rapidly approaches, too, and soon it will be the Chinese Year of the Cock. How ominous!

One of my more fey and frivolous personalities has been dominant tonight. I attribute this in part to the fact that I unwisely failed to resist a nap which sneaked up on me some hours ago, and in its aftermath, I have been unable to suppress an unwonted giddiness. Perhaps the cold air has slowed my blood and deprived my brain of needed oxygen. Whatever the cause, I hope that it does not prevent me from sleeping. At least, if I do not grow tired, may it let me simply pass out from the effects of a lack of gravity.

( Sunday Verse )

Quiet

The day, being Sunday, was filled with long pauses. Passersby strolled the quiet streets, walking dogs who sniffed those bemused plants which have bloomed early. The white fluff of drifting clouds perpetually drew the eye into repose. Birds decorated the lawns, enjoying leisurely picnics, being moved now and then to emit songs that evoked more sense of May than of January. Napping cats draped themselves on porch rails and sun-warmed steps, waking only to yawn and gaze briefly at the placid afternoon scene, then return to their dreams. The day demanded nothing, but passed with no more disturbance than would a browsing deer, desiring not to be noticed. Even the sunset was barely a blush, and a slow fading, until night had absorbed the serenity. No more than a sigh of breeze now stirs the air, and the pines are utterly silent. I watch the stars emerge, and wonder when the world will wake from this dream.