Being Quiet

I could compare the night sky to something- perhaps to a translucent map of islands and continents adrift in a cerulean sea- but, in fact, it looks like exactly what it is- a partly cloudy sky lit by a brilliant moon that is nearly full. Tonight, I have no desire for the fancies or conceits of metaphor... except for the one I just used about metaphor being fancies or conceits, of course. Tonight, I like things just as they are. I like the dark pine trees being pine trees, and their silhouetted branches being branches, full of clustered, pointy needles that are just discernable in the bright light. I like the shadows of the bare mulberry branches being simply shadows, which darken patches of ordinary damp lawn from which rises the commonplace scent of earth and grass. I especially like the owl hoot I hear being no more than the call of an earthly bird, out seeking a meal. Everything is exactly right the way it is, unembellished by sparkly words. The quiet of the land is only enhanced by my own silence. I'm going to be as quiet as my cat is when she stalks her small, gray prey,

Perfection

The big wet that's dissolving the southern part of the state has missed us. This afternoon, our sky gave every indication of having been transported here from the springtime of some mythic earthly paradise, and the air was as mild and fresh as could be imagined. Painterly sweeps of cirrus cloud drifted white on perfect blue, until sunset made them blush a shade of pink never seen on the mere flowers of the ordinary world. That such a day should fall in February, and this far north, has left me astonished. I'd like another, tomorrow.


Also, there is this:

WeeTanya is writing a paper about people who began LiveJournal when they were younger than 18. If this is you, go answer this five question meme about LJ -- the answers can be as long or short as you like. MANY THANKS for helping! -- click here to answer --