Stolen Hour Night

For a while, mist falls, and the long streets take on a dark sheen. A faint drumming arrives as the trees begin to shed the accumulated moisture. I know the forest will be filled with the scent of last year's pine needles, dampened where they lie slowly returning to soil. The grasses in the fields will be wet, and would dampen my pant legs were I walking there. It would be a pleasant sensation, but I will not disturb the perfect serenity. Rather, I will hold the thought of it, pure, and free of any human footsteps. Perhaps the deer wander there, browsing on moist, green shoots. There is no need for my presence there when there so easily comes to me, a fragrance on the chill, mist-laden breeze.

( Sunday Verse )

All Wet

I saw a cat walk through the rain. I saw a flock of small birds hopping about in a downpour. I saw the wet lilies persist in blooming. Everything out there but the sky insists that it is dry. It is not dry. There was a bit of brightness on the western horizon about sunset. Maybe the clouds are thinning. It doesn't sound like it, though. Pitter. Patter.

I decided to give the new machine another shot. I had to let the monitor's cables hang out the front and drape across the desk, since the back panel behind which they are supposed to snake won't budge enough to let them through. It looks like crap, and is inconvenient. Nevertheless. I got everything hooked up, and powered up the tower. I got the wireless mouse to work. The wireless keyboard remains recalcitrant. No matter what I do (switch ports, reinitialize, change batteries), it will not work. I didn't think there could be another machine as frustrating as Sluggo. I was wrong.

I hate computers.